Circle of Hands WIP
by ghettoelleth
Summary: Osse looks for redemption and Cirdan ends up with a gift that just keeps on giving. Glorfindel is given a task by the Valar and is haunted by his past. Haldir survives tragedy to become the Haldir we all know and love. A three part story of drama, susp
1. Osse

**OSSË**

**"For whatever else we lose, it is always ourselves we find in the sea."**

Ossë felt his Master's fury long before the wind brought Ulmo's voice to his ears. The anger of the Vala raged across the western strand of Aman. The sea was torrid and a furious wind assaulted the shoreline, the moon hid behind the black clouds of Ulmo's anger. Ossë dropped to his knees in the sand at the edge of the waves, trying to catch his breath. He was exhausted from his work, and too much time spent lingering on the shore. He felt thick and disoriented, and tears coursed down his cheeks. Ulmo, Lord of the Waters, called to him again, roaring through the wind. But Ossë would not answer him, not yet.

Ossë waited anxiously for the sun to shine across the water. He wanted to see what he had done in the light of dawn. The wind whipped his sea green hair around his face as he picked up the bundle and pressed it to his chest. He had not been prepared to feel so deeply for something created through him. In his hands, he held his masterpiece. He knelt in the sand, waiting for the dawn, his thoughts traveling back through the millennia, to the events that had brought him to the shore this day.

He had been a fool, tricked by the dark material hidden in the proud song of a twisted being. Ossë had been so prideful and arrogant then, following his Lord Ulmo more out of fear than of fealty. He had resented Ulmo's authority over him, and the more resistant he grew, the more bitter and resentful he had become. Morgoth had fed off that resentment, luring him with sweet sounding words dripping with veiled venom.

He had escaped entrapment by the Dark One's canticle, and Morgoth would hate him forever for having eluded him. Even from beyond the Doors of Night, Ossë felt the malice the former Vala harbored toward him. Ossë had been a fool, and his foolishness had cost him all that he had been. Instead of returning to Lord Ulmo repentant, Ossë, steeped in self-loathing, remained rebellious and unpredictable.

Guilt gnawed at Ossë's conscience, and at its worst, he felt unable to contain it. It haunted him daily through the ages, manifesting itself in fits of anger he could not control. His rage had often compelled him to hurl himself running across the waves, laughing madly, many times leaving chaos in his wake. The people of the sea loved him, but dared not trust his moods.

Ossë had not understood that Ilúvatar did not give his pardon lightly, and when he did, it was complete. He had been unable to forgive himself. He was broken, and his shame ran deep. The one thing left intact after Morgoth, had been his perfect love for Eru. It had been what saved him, along with Uinen's devotion, and the ardent prayer of his friend Aulë.

Ossë thought, due to the magnitude of his transgression, he needed something more than words to prove his love to The One. He wanted tangible proof he could lay at his Master's feet. He wanted desperately to show Eru his heart so that he could honor his love for his Master, and in so doing, perhaps regain a fraction of himself.

Ossë had spent days venting his rage over the seas until he felt drained and insubstantial. Only then had he come to the western edge of Aman, his anger fully spent. He had bared himself completely to his Master for the first time since severing his ties with Morgoth, and he was at peace. In that moment, it had come to him, a way in which he could prove his love to Eru.

Ossë had not known if he would be successful. Others had achieved such a thing as this; he had seen with his own eyes that it could be done. The Valar had created the hroa of the Firstborn with the assistance of their Maiar. Aulë alone had created the dwarves from the materials he loved best, and his devotion to the beauty of craft. But these things had been done so many millennia ago. He had not known if he could, yet he harbored no doubt that he would try.

He gathered as his tools all things fine and noble from within his heart: his love for Uinen, easer of his torment; his devotion to Ulmo, his mentor and teacher; the passion he felt for the sea, and all things on and within her. He then commanded all these thoughts to yield to his will, and he joined them with his absolute love for Eru. With all thought of guilt and anger abandoned, Ossë turned his eyes to the stars, and weeping freely, he began to sing.

The torrent of Lord Ulmo immediately began to stir around him, but Ossë paid no heed. He would face Ulmo's wrath soon enough, and he would not be ashamed. He continued his work, integrating all that he had collected, and creating a harmony that poured out his love to the wind. His deep, rich voice climbing into the ether, sought his beloved Master's ear. Not since the days when the Ainur had sung the world into being had his voice sounded so pure. Devoid of all, save his love for Eru, he intoned the song of creation.

Ossë's lyric drew the very elements in around him, bending toward him to hear his verse. His hands reached out and drew from Arda those things that would honor Eru best. He drew the colors for his palette from the swarthy skies, the waters of dark indigo, and the pale gold sands from the western shore. His song gave the colors substance, and shaped them, giving form to his love. After many hours, he had completed his hymn to Eru, and was utterly spent.

The first sign of daybreak peered over the water, illuminating that which he held close. He looked down at what he had done, and his heart flooded with joy. There in his hands he held a child, perfect and pure, made from Ossë's unfaltering love of Eru Ilúvatar. He held the child up, caressed its soft cheek, and pressed its hand to his face. As he lifted the being up higher in the morning light, he heard the worried voice of Uinen calling out to him from down the shore.

"Ossë, what is happening?" She cried out as she ran toward him. "Where have you been? Ulmo is raging. He has been searching for you for hours."

She stopped short when he turned toward her. She looked at the thing he was clutching, and her mouth dropped open, the irate wind blowing her hair across the sand.

"Ossë, what have you done? What is that?" She whispered.

"Tis a babe, my love" he answered, moving his gaze from the child to look at his wife.

His voice was softer than she had ever heard it. Reluctantly tearing her eyes away from the baby, she looked closely at him, and her jaw dropped again. He was weeping openly. No anger touched his eyes, no self-loathing nor regret. For the first time since the Dark Singer had tried to lure him away, she saw the light of Ilúvatar, undimmed in her husband's eyes. Morgoth's poison no longer haunted them.

All repercussion faded from thought, as she dropped to her knees in front of her husband, enfolding him and his tiny companion in her arms. They wept together as they held each other, years of affliction forming a pool in the sand. They remained there for a time, until off in the horizon, they saw a terrible swell rising up from the turbulent water. Uinen flinched. She had never seen Ulmo so angry.

"This does not bode well for you, my love."

Ossë looked at her with a peaceful smile in his eyes, "I do not care. I would give her up to the sea if Eru were to ask it of me. I have done what I intended, I have painted a portrait of that which is good in me. It is a thing of beauty, and an ending to sadness. I would that Eru look upon it, and know my love for him is pure. Then will I do his bidding where this creature is concerned, though it pain me to my demise."

Uinen saw the truth of this in Ossë's eyes, and it frightened her. Her Lord Ulmo would be furious, but he must see the intent of Ossë's deed, and understand that if he were to reject this tribute, Ossë may well be lost to them forever.

She took the baby from him and looked into its face. The eyes were blue like the storming water of the sea, nearly black in their intensity. The night sky clung to the dark hair, and the skin looked as if it had been kissed by the dawn. The child owed nothing to the pale beauty of the Eldar, its features bore a singular beauty all their own that Uinen had never seen. She looked again at her husband, and knew what she would do.

"I will petition Eru on your behalf," she whispered to the child, "though it cost me everything, I will beg to garner his favor for you, little one."

Ulmo stormed toward them across the water, pushing the sea from his path as if it were nothing more than a minor annoyance. He rolled upon the beach like a giant wave, his face terrible in its anger. When he was close enough to see what Uinen was holding, he stopped short. Ossë took the baby from Uinen, holding it protectively in his arms. Ulmo billowed in the wind like the sail of some giant ship caught in a gale. He looked down at Ossë, then at Uinen, and finally at the creature.

"Are you MAD?" Ulmo roared.

Ossë replied to Lord Ulmo without looking up from the baby, his voice seemed unmoved by Ulmo's ire and yet, no trace of his customary arrogance could be heard.

"My Lord Ulmo, I do not beg your forgiveness for what I have done, for there is no regret in my heart. I would that you could understand this thing, but if you cannot, then I beg you, deliver my punishment quickly."

Ulmo let out a booming, derisive laugh, "Oh, you would have me do that would you? Perhaps you fear my discourse regarding your behavior more than you fear banishment or something worse, my friend."

Ossë looked at Ulmo for the first time, "I fear nothing short of displeasing my Master Ilúvatar in this matter. I have angered you Lord, and for that I am truly sorry, but I have no remorse, for my desire to please The Master is true. I will do what Eru bids me regarding this child; only I beg you, have him look just once upon the face. For Him did I sing the song that created, to paint my love for My Master here on Arda, if only briefly. If he would now have me give it back to Arda, so be it. I will pay that price for him." His face was etched with pain and resignation as he spoke.

Ulmo softened and his frown dissipated. The deluge that he had planned to loose on his student, in fact had been practicing for hours on the sea, died in his throat. He watched a tear as it fell from Ossë's eye, the light of Ilúvatar falling with it to the sand. Ossë had been renewed in his understanding of Eru's love for all He had created, and that realization shined a light from his fëa that overflowed from within him. Ulmo allowed the corners of his mouth to bend briefly, then made a rumbling sound as the frown returned.

"There are things that Eru would have me tell you, Ossë, and I cannot say that they are things that you will want to hear," Ulmo said sternly.

Before he could say another word, Uinen interrupted, "My Lord, please, if you would jus…"

"One moment Uinen," Ulmo raised a hand to halt her, "I know what it is that you would have me hear, and your wishes in this matter have been taken into account." He replied.

Uinen nodded and bowed her head to stare at the ground.

"You must know, Ossë," Ulmo continued, "Ilúvatar is not pleased with what you have done. There are reasons why these things are not for the Maiar, not the least of which being that, if other Maiar thought to take this notion into their heads, the shores of Aman would well be teeming with all manner of freakish beasts."

Uinen and Ossë both bit back their smiles at hearing this obvious insult to the abilities of their fellow Maiar. They had no desire to further incite Lord Ulmo. Ulmo, ignoring their mirth, continued.

"The Lord Eru has commanded that I come and claim this…thing."

Uinen abruptly jumped to her feet, "No! My Lord, I beg you reconsider. You must understand that Ossë meant no harm by what he has done. What he has made, he has made out of a desire to show our Master the trueness of his heart. I beg you please, My Lord, petition Eru on the babe's behalf, and I will do anything he asks. I will leave the waters of Ea, never to return, if that is what is required, but I implore you, do not harm this creature."

Ulmo put a hand on her shoulder to calm her. "Uinen, you know as well as I that Eru has known Ossë's heart since before he was made. He would not bring more misery to him than he has already brought to himself, nor to you, who has ever been loyal to this shifting Maia. No, I am afraid that what our Lord has in store for this…this…thing," Ulmo looked at the babe with one raised eyebrow, "will not cause you or your husband more torment. Rather it will replace your enmity with the joy and sorrow that only comes from watching a being that is much loved, stumble its way through Arda."

He offered his hand to Ossë who looked at him with shining eyes. Ulmo pulled him up from the sand, then turned both of the Maiar toward the cliffs of Pelóri that surround Aman.

"Listen," he urged them.

The two strained to hear of what Ulmo spoke. Coming to them over the top of the cliffs was the sweet music of the Valar. The tune was something they had never heard before, beautiful in its part, and yet scattered with strange lament. It was a song that spoke of great delight, touched with a shadow of regret. At times filled with unspeakable suffering, at others, light of heart, and completely peaceful.

"Of what do they sing my Lord?" Uinen asked in awe.

Ossë held the baby close, tears springing anew from his eyes. "My Master Ilúvatar has sung the child's fëa, beloved."

Ulmo smiled sadly, "Yes my friend, and the Valar are singing it forth. Each imparting their hope as they will."

Ulmo looked up toward the voices knowing that his Lord Ilúvatar had been expecting this day; His own song could not surprise Him. He knew that Eru had created this fëa with a different lyric; a lyric reserved for a select few. It was a unique stanza in the symphony of creation, forged as merely a fragment of a whole that once complete, would form a symphony unlike any other before it in Arda. Ulmo also knew that certain of the Valar had been asked to add their voices, imparting the child with knowledge that it would need to sustain its link and in so doing, strengthen the circle. Ulmo did not fully know Eru's purpose or the meaning of the circle; that was knowledge reserved for Manwë alone, he only knew that it was so.

Ossë and Uinen were awed; delighted that Eru had granted the being her fëa, yet confused by the greeting being offered up by the Valar. Ulmo turned to them again.

"You must know that this being shall not be allowed the peace of Aman. Eru has known since the forming of Eä that this child would come. He also knows that, as with all other beings of freewill, the child has a destiny that must be pursued, and it cannot be fulfilled here. Olórin sails on the morrow to Mithlond, you must give the babe up to Arda, and allow it to seek its own way."

As Ulmo finished speaking, they felt the child's fëa come into it, and looked down at the small face. The child, coming into awareness now, started and began to cry, emitting a sound that would rival the death throes of a seabird. Ulmo shook his head as if in pain.

Uinen laughed and said, "At least the face is pleasant to look at, though the voice is not easy on the ear."

Ossë looked at his little gift and asked, "Where will the child go in Arda, and who will care for it?"

Ulmo smiled, a secret thing full of mischievous delight.

"It may well please you to know, Ossë, you need not worry for the care of this small one, it seems that our friend, Círdan, will soon be receiving an unexpected gift from Aman."

At that thought, Ulmo burst into a deep laugh that rolled across the beach like thunder. Ossë and Uinen looked at each other, smiling at the impish delight of their Lord. The baby jumped in Ossë's arms startled into a fresh round of wailing. Ulmo rolled his eyes toward the sky. They turned to walk down the beach, as Ulmo held up his hands in a vain effort to stop the clamor. Suddenly remembering something very important, Ulmo stopped and looked at the two Maiar.

"Not a word of this is ever to be breathed to the other Maiar." He pointed a finger at both of them. "They must not know for many years to come, of what has happened here today." Uinen and Ossë looked at him questioningly. Ulmo sighed.

"This child you have made will be unique in Arda, and will suffer doubt and loneliness for that fact, even before she reaches her maturity. You have created a being unlike any other, Ossë, and it will struggle to find its place in the world. This deed must never happen again. You must keep it to yourselves, never speaking of it to anyone." He thought for a moment, and his brow darkened as he continued.

"We are sending an innocent child into a world that once again falls under the shadow of evil, and it will see much misery. You have thoughtlessly brought suffering on another being, and I fear we will know great sadness on this account in times to come. Much will be required of the child, and it will linger long in the world." Ulmo's face then brightened as his premonition changed its course.

"But all is not doom," he looked on the worried faces of the Maiar. "Círdan will love and protect it fiercely. This child will grow confident and strong under his wing, and friendship and love will not be lacking. Close bonds will be forged with others set apart by Eru himself and one who was spared for a great task shall be bound beyond friendship, may the Valar help _that_ being."

"But beware Ossë," Ulmo warned, " at times Círdan will cry out to you in frustration for having sent him such a vexing creature, at others, the child itself will seek out answers that can only be revealed in due time. You must remember that your role cannot change, you will have no more contact with the child than you already have with Cirdan. You must trust him to do right and never interfere."

He headed them down the beach again.

"Come, we must make for the Bay of Eldamar. Olórin will be sailing tomorrow at first light and this little one," he nodded toward the child, "must go with him. And again I remind you, not a word to the Maiar."

As they walked, Ulmo chuckled to himself.

"What is it my Lord?" Ossë asked. Ulmo's smile was as warm as the sun.

"It is bad enough that I must explain to all the Valar why I have an idiot for a vassal."

Ulmo's laughter startled the child again, and she began her crying anew. The Great Lord of the Sea thought that there might be no place in all of Arda to escape that sound.


	2. Cirdan

**CÍRDAN**

"**There is no end to the sky and the waters. How well they accompany sadness!"**

The balmy morning found Cirdan, in leggings and boots, standing on the balcony of the Grey Hall, feeling the sun warm his skin. He watched the ship sail toward the docks from the mouth of the bay, with his foot on the stone rail, resting his elbow on his knee. The soft breeze blew small strands of silver hair around his face, and his fingers scratched at his beard, a rare adornment indeed, for any elf. The beard lay in sharp contrast to his features, which were yet fair and strong. It was in his beard alone that the ages first began to tell on him, there and in the sadness of his heart, which haunted his grey eyes.

He cut a magnificent portrait standing on the balcony above the harbor, his thoughts far west beyond the horizon. Anyone looking at him could tell that Círdan was a singular being, for few others bore the history that Círdan did. An elf lord of wisdom beyond reckoning; his knowledge and foresight rivaled that of Elrond, and Celeborn. His thoughts drifted as his grey eyes scanned the water.

"**Abide now that time, for when it comes then your work will be of utmost worth"**

As they had throughout the years, whenever there was need, the waves whispered to Círdan that he should make his way to the palantir in the white tower of Elostirion. As bidden by Ulmo, Cirdan had traveled there to seek the wisdom of the Valar.

The stone of Elendil came into Círdan's guardianship through Elendil who had placed it in the tower of Elostirion, north of Mithlond. Though often no more than cryptic visions of the past or future, Círdan had a connection with the Valar that surpassed any others' in Middle Earth.

The palantir sat on a pedestal of white stone, near a window overlooking the sea. As Cirdan waited impatiently, he watched the breathtaking view of the ocean from the window. But Círdan felt he had little time for enjoying the landscape. He turned his gaze to the stone, the only one palantir that was not in accord with the others, and looked solely to the master stone in the tower of Avallónë on Tol Eressëa. After some time, the stone began to weave its song for him, The Valar putting a lyric to the message.

The song of the Valar brought visions to Círdan from within the depths of the palantir. The first of those visions had been of the Istari who had been arriving in Mithlond over the weeks. Each had arrived alone, with the exception of the Blue Istari, barely raising an eyebrow among the inhabitants of the bustling fishing village on the Firth of Lhún. Círdan had sensed the power of the wise ones, and as awed by it as he had been, he had let them pass without a word, in accord with the wishes of the Valar.

The image in the stone became cloudy and began to fade. Círdan was confused, wondering if he were to receive no more. He shifted his weight as if to rise when the stone bid him to look again. He heard the voice of the Valar singing to his heart a song of great lament, beckoning him back through the years of his life in Middle Earth. Círdan felt reluctant, for he knew all too well that there could only be sorrow in that bidding, and he was in no mood for remembering things lost to him forever.

He had lived through the long history of Arda suffering many sorrows, feeling at times as if he might drown in them. Círdan could not count the years since his beginning in Middle Earth and he did not care to. The elves of Mithlond proclaimed him to be the oldest elf remaining in Arda. If this were true, he had never said so himself. He did not tally the passing of his days. He remained bound to the havens by a promise, and until he met that promise, he would not leave.

Bidden by Ulmo to stay his passing when so many of his kin had sailed into the west, he had assented, as was his way. Of all the Valar, Ulmo had been the one who had cared most for the elves of Middle Earth. He had kept close watch over the Eldar even when all other Valar remained in Aman. Ulmo never abandoned the elves during the black days of Morgoth, lending them courage and strength in their battle against the Dark Lord.

When Ulmo set him the task of building the ships that would carry the Eldar to Aman, Círdan could not refuse him. He knew that this would bind him to Arda until the last of the elves had left her shores, and that thought tore at his heart. Though he desperately desired to join his kinsman, Olwë, in the west, Círdan loved Ulmo and felt fiercely loyal to him. He vowed to his Lord that he would remain, no matter how great the pull of the tide or how his heart ached for the passage west, until he fulfilled his pledge to the Singer of the Waters.

Círdan returned his attention to the palantir, which had begun to hearken back through the ages. He saw himself as a beardless youth, searching Beleriand with the Teleri for his lost kinsman, Elwë, as many others of his family, including Olwë, set sail for the ancient west ahead of them. It was while Círdan prepared to join his kinsmen in Valinor that The Lord of the Sea had warned him not to follow into the Blessed Realm. Círdan's fate would be to remain in Arda, alone, separated from family and all whom he loved, offering his services to those of the Quendi who would seek the peace of Aman from the shores of Lindon.

One vision faded into the next and Círdan saw Celebrimbor and the Elven smiths of Eregion, craft rings of power for the dwarves and the kings of men. He watched as the elves made in secret, three more rings, the Elven Rings of Power. Círdan grew cold as he saw the foul hand of the vile enemy of the people of Middle Earth, wearing the One Ring; the elves becoming aware of him, realizing that they were deceived.

At the sight of Sauron in the palantir, Círdan felt his long quelled loathing for the murderous fiend, tugging at the memories of those who had sacrificed themselves to rid Arda of the dark foe's malice. Courageous warriors whom Círdan loved; warriors whose passing afflicted him greatly. The thought of Sauron filled him with so much anguish that even now he could taste his own hatred of the malignant neophyte of Morgoth.

Círdan had to look away from the stone in order to balance himself. When he looked back, the stone revealed to him Galadriel, advising Celebrimbor to hide the Three Rings, guarding against their use for as long as the One Ring remained in Sauron's possession. Celebrimbor entrusted the keeping of Nenya, the Ring of Water, to Galadriel herself. The other two he gave to Gil-galad, last King of the Eldar, who passed them on to those he trusted most.

As his history continued to emerge from within the stone, Círdan felt for the ring on his own finger. Narya, the Ring of Fire, had been given to him by Gil-galad, his cherished friend, before his death.

Círdan saw himself building the ships that had carried Eärendil, father of Elrond of Imladris, into the Undying Lands, and the Edain into Númenor. He wept as he witnessed anew the deaths of Elendil and his beloved friend, Gil-galad, in Mordor during the War of the Last Alliance. He watched as Isildur, son of Elendil, cut the ring of power from the hand of Sauron.

The stone showed Círdan meeting with Elrond after the hard won battle was over. Together, they had counseled Isildur to be rid of the One Ring. Elrond and Círdan were devastated when Isildur, having fallen victim to the seductive pull of the Ring of Power, refused to destroy it. Gil-galad, Elendil and so many others had died fighting to free Middle Earth of Sauron, and still the One Ring, the seat of Sauron's control, remained.

Círdan watched in horror as the stone showed him how Isildur fell, during an orc attack at Gladden Fields. Though he had known the circumstances of Isildur's death, he was yet horrified by the scene; once more looking away from the stone in order to compose himself. He looked back to see the One Ring lost in the current of the River Anduin.

The stone moved on, and he saw himself as Lord of the Teleri, coming to the havens of Mithlond at the dawning of the third age. He lived a life of relative contentment in his home by the sea; craftsman of the great ships that carry the elves westward. Many whom he cared for had sailed away on those ships never to return. Time and again the stone counted the passing of friends and loved ones until Círdan's heart grew weary beyond endurance, and he felt he could bear it no longer.

Mercifully, the stone faded into the present. He saw a ship sailing through the high cliffs that guard the mouth of the Bay of Lhún. The stone began to speak again to his heart, telling him of a new arrival, the last Istar. Though he could not see him, Círdan felt the power of this final wizard radiate from the stone and engulf him with a shrewd wisdom that surpassed any he had sensed in the others. He had assumed, as many others after him would, that the white wizard with the regal bearing had been the superior of the Istar. He knew now that this was not so, this grey sage was different, and would lead many down great paths toward their destiny, shaping the future of Middle Earth.

There was something else, something the wise one brought with him that Círdan could not understand. He felt a sudden surge of anticipation that awoke in him the long-standing promise to Ulmo. Confusion surrounded him as he strained to explore deeper the meaning of this last, vague premonition. The stone went dark and Círdan breathed a sigh of frustration. Standing to look out the window, he struggled to understand all that he had seen.

"**Misty morning, clouds in the sky, without warning the wizard walks by."**

He turned his gaze away from the harbor as he heard someone coming out onto the balcony from the Grey Hall. A tall, angular young elf stood in the doorway.

"Lord Círdan, the ship will be docking soon, will you be going down to meet her?"

"Yes, I suppose I should, Galdor," answered the shipwright.

Blithe by nature, Círdan was always quick to laugh, and his smile lit up his face as if a light radiated from within his soul. However, just as his smile illuminated his face, his grief could darken him, clouding his countenance without warning. At times, his sorrow was painfully evident in the look of far-away longing, deep within his eyes. That look shrouded his features as he took the stairs up to his rooms.

He dressed quickly, heading out of the Grey Hall toward the road that led to the docks. As he walked, two young elves ran up to accompany him.

"Lord Círdan," the younger of the two began, "A ship is coming in to dock at the harbor, and it is magnificent." The young elf's eyes danced with delight.

"Magnificent you say, Tirin? Surely it must be a vessel of my crafting then," teased Círdan.

"Someday, I shall build boats of such superb skill," said Olossë, the older ellon.

Círdan laughed. "Neither of you will be building much of anything if you do not pay more attention to your studies. There are many important things to learn along with the art of shipbuilding."

His face grew serious as he tried to impress the importance of learning where they had come from and the sacrifices made by the Eldar throughout history.

"You must learn of the finer things in life, the history of the elves, and the poetry and music of your people."

"Yes, my lord," Olossë spoke, "but that is all they want to teach us, history, and music." He made a face. "What good is that to a future master ship builder?"

A mischievous smile suddenly lit his eyes.

"What if a pretty young elleth should ask me how we master craftsmen build our ships? I should have to answer, 'I do not know, but I can sing you a song about how your great grandfather would have done it,'" he grinned.

The three elves laughed together as they walked to the harbor. They talked of all the things they loved, ships, the sea and everything to do with the two. Well loved by the children of Mithlond, one of Círdan's greatest joys came from spending time with them, teaching them of sailing; telling tales of adventure and peril. They sat with him for as long as he would abide them, listening in awe as he wove his stories.

As the trio arrived at the docks, Círdan sent them to assist the mariners in tying off the ship as he waited near the gangway, anxious to meet his mysterious visitors. It was indeed a magnificent vessel, the sound of its sheets snapping in the wind tugged at Círdan's heart. He stood waiting to see what the ship carried from the shores of Aman. The anticipation made him edgy and he bit his lower lip in irritation.

Suddenly, appearing on the dock stood an old man dressed in a worn, grey cloak. His nose was large and rather elongated and his hair and beard were completely white. He wore a wide brimmed hat with a pointed tip that hid the rest of his face completely in shadow. He walked with tired gait and, from where Círdan stood, he looked disheveled and frail, and much older than the shipwright had expected. This could not possibly be the one he had been awaiting.

Círdan was about to turn away when the old man looked up, allowing the morning light to illuminate his features. Círdan's breath caught in his throat. The old man walked up to meet him, and now stood just inches away. Círdan found himself looking into a pair of eyes so wise he felt as if they contained the answers to all the mysteries of Eä, if one could only decipher their language. Yet, they seemed kind and benevolent, creased from laughter with a sparkle of secret mischief that Círdan found enchanting. Suddenly Círdan remembered himself and, quickly greeted the Istar.

"Welcome, my lord," he said. "I trust your journey was not too uncomfortable?"

"Thank you, Círdan, my boy," the old man smiled, magically appearing to lose years from his face. "The trip was quite pleasant for the most part, save for those moments that were disturbed by your little gift." He let out a conspiratorial chuckle.

'My boy?' Círdan, utterly taken aback, stared at the wise one with many questions in his eyes. The Istar new his name where the others had barely given him a second glance, but he was most intrigued by the mention of this mysterious 'gift'.

"Forgive me, my lord, it is only that I have received a strange message regarding your arrival, and since then, I have been confused about my part."

The old wizard smiled warmly at the shipwright. "My name is Mithrandir," he said with a sly smile and a wink. Círdan nodded knowingly as he continued.

"I bring you messages from your Lord Ulmo and his vassal Ossë," the Istar said. "Messages and a little…something more. Let us seek a comfortable spot to sit and talk, Master Círdan." He chuckled again.

As they turned to walk away from the harbor, there was a sudden commotion on the dock. Círdan turned back and saw Olossë and Tirin walking carefully down the gangway, carrying a large woven basket between them. They were arguing heatedly when they spied Círdan, and immediately, they fell silent. Olossë looked at Círdan with what seemed to be horror in his eyes. Círdan tilted his head, silently questioning the young ellon when Mithrandir spoke to the two elves.

"Come along you two, you must bring that to Lord Círdan's straight away." He then took Círdan's arm and gently urged him forward. "I will answer all of your questions once we have reached the Grey Hall." Mithrandir assured him.

They came to the door of Círdan's home and Mithrandir immediately instructed Olossë and Tirin to take their cargo to the kitchen. They hesitated as Mithrandir turned to Círdan and spoke.

"Forgive me my familiarity," Mithrandir said. "I would have a word with your cook and then return to join you. We will continue our conversation then."

Círdan, rendered speechless by the Istar's authoritative tone, simply nodded and indicated that he would wait for him in the library of the Grey Hall.

"Very good my boy, I shall have someone lead me there shortly."

Mithrandir lay a hand on each of the young elves shoulders as they walked toward the kitchen.

Círdan sat in stunned silence at his desk. He heard a rather loud commotion and the excited voices of Tirin and Olossë coming from the kitchen. Suddenly he heard the voice of Lirúvia, his cook, raised in agitation. He was slightly concerned, as he knew Lirúvia was not easily unnerved. Someone then shut the door, cutting off all sound, and he sat back in his chair, overwhelmed.

Círdan shook his head and picked up a logbook, trying desperately to concentrate on the writing as his imagination flew in all directions. He tossed the book back down on his desk and pushed his chair away to stand. He began to pace back and forth across the library.

Círdan found this mystery quite vexing, yet he was hesitant to seek out his visitor and request an explanation for what was happening in his own home. He looked down at the stack of books and papers on his desk, smiling in spite of his irritation, a puzzled expression in his eyes. It had been quite a while since anyone had made him feel like a child, yet that was exactly how he felt regarding the old man who stood in his kitchen giving orders to the members of his household.

Olossë suddenly burst through the library door. He was flustered and his hair had come loose from the braid at the back of his neck. He looked as if he had just been in a tussle with someone, and he was agitated and breathing rather hard.

"My Lord Círdan," he said breathlessly. "Tirin and I beg your leave to run an errand for Lord Mithrandir."

Círdan looked up at Olossë from under raised eyebrows.

"Oh, forgive me sir," he said, looking at the door he had just burst through without knocking and then bowing respectfully to the Lord of the Grey Hall. "May I have your leave, my lord?"

"Olossë," Círdan began, "would you mind telling me, what in the name of Eru is going on in there?"

Círdan stood with his arms crossed, motioning with his head in the direction of the kitchen. Olossë simply shrugged, looking equally as horrified as he had on the docks, and begging his lord's pardon with his eyes.

"Very well, Olossë, you have my leave," Círdan said with a sigh.

The young ellon turned as if to run from the room, nearly colliding with Mithrandir who was coming through the door. Tirin followed close behind him, trying to see around the wizard, as if he wanted to get a last look at Círdan's face before leaving.

"You two hurry along now and bring what I have requested," Mithrandir told them, "and be quick, I do not think we have much time before our peace is disturbed again." He laughed.

Olossë grabbed Tirin by the sleeve and left the library, closing the door behind them. They did not leave the hall immediately however, but stood by the door for a short while, straining to hear the conversation within. They heard the two inside talking, but could not make out the words until suddenly, they heard their Lord Círdan roar in his deep voice.

"They've done what?" Then, after a long pause, "no…no, this cannot be."

The two youths looked at each other with eyes wide, they then ran from the Grey Hall, onto the road, and all the way into the village. They were anxious to do their lord's bidding and to tell someone, anyone, of the unbelievable things they had just witnessed at Lord Círdan's home.

Círdan sat in a chair with his head in his hands, the heels of his palms massaging his forehead as he stared at the floor in amazement. Mithrandir stood in front of him, his hands behind his back; a look of amused sympathy on his face.

"What were they thinking?" He asked.

He could not believe what he was hearing. A baby? What did he know about babies, or raising children, or being responsible for another life?

Mithrandir answered, speaking softly, a touching air of compassion in his voice.

"My boy, it is not our place to question the wisdom of the Valar. Some things just are. Ulmo has seen fit to assign the task of caring for this child to you. In light of the sacrifices you have made for him in the past, I daresay he may well see it as compensation for all that you have given up."

Círdan looked up at Mithrandir, as he raised his eyebrows and his mouth dropped open. He seemed to be struggling to say something, then, thinking better of it, snapped his jaw shut again, returning his gaze to the floor.

"You must understand, Círdan," Mithrandir lay one hand on the old elf's shoulder to comfort him as he continued, "this is a child quite unique in origin, she needs to be where she will be accepted for her differences, and protected from those who would make her suffer for them. What better place for her than with someone who is unique in his own right? You are the wisest of the Eldar in Arda. Ulmo has entrusted you with this task because he knows the loneliness of your heart. He also knows the capacity of it, Círdan; do not think that this decision came without great consideration. This thing that they ask of you should be looked upon as an honor."

"But my lord," Círdan implored, "I am an old elf, set in my ways and completely ignorant of what is required to care for a baby. A baby!" He looked incredulous as he shook his head. "Could they not have sent me a pet or a nice book to read?"

Mithrandir laughed heartily, a rich sound that had a soothing effect on Círdan, easing his discomfort.

"Would you refuse this gift from your Lord Ulmo?" Mithrandir asked him softly.

Círdan looked at the old Istar, and with dawning realization of the futility of objecting, he answered him with a tone of resignation in his voice.

"No, I would not refuse him, my lord," Círdan said, "but I cannot imagine how I am to proceed from here."

Mithrandir held his hand out to Círdan beckoning him to rise.

"You might begin by looking at her. She is quite unique."

Círdan rose and Mithrandir took him by the arm, leading him out of the library, toward the kitchen. The basket sat on a long, careworn table and Lirúvia stood over it cooing softly to the fussing child in an attempt to soothe her. Círdan stood on the other side of the basket, looking down on the baby. He carefully pulled back the blankets to uncover her face. He drew in his breath as he took in the tiny child with hair as black as night.

"She looks like the sea on a cloudy day." Círdan said in wonder.

Mithrandir stood at the shipwright's side as they watched the child. Círdan noticed every feature of the tiny thing: the black hair; tiny fingers, pink cheeks like rose petals; eyelashes as dark as night; the skin perfectly smooth but, unlike the elves, kissed by the sun to a warm sandy tone. Her ears were small and rounded like men's ears, but Mithrandir had already advised him that, like the elves, she was bound to Arda. She looked so helpless and innocent. Círdan felt her fëa and began to understand. This child was alone, completely and utterly without kin in this world. His heart ached for her, and he wondered how sad the realization might be for her one day.

The baby yawned and stretched out her tiny hands. As she relaxed, she took hold of Círdan's finger and grasped it tightly, her lips forming a tiny 'o' as she brought his finger to her cheek, and just as she had taken hold of his hand, she had taken hold of his heart as well. Círdan could not explain why, or even understand it himself, but he knew without question that he would die to protect this gift from the Valar. As he stood gazing into the baby's face, Mithrandir looked at him and knew as well, all would be right with these two.

Olossë and Tirin returned to the Grey Hall with yet another visitor in tow.

"We brought the one you asked for, Lord Mithrandir," Tirin said.

They led a young elleth into the library with them and introduced her to Mithrandir and Círdan.

"This is Merilin," Olossë began, "she is from Lorien but she has come to stay with my family for a while."

"My lords," she bowed her head as she greeted the two older elves.

They both nodded in return and Mithrandir led her over to where the baby lay, sleeping at last. She looked down at the child and a soft smile crossed her lips.

"She is as new to Arda as my son, and yet as different to him as night is to day," she smiled. "My husband and I have come to spend time with my sister and her family, my lord." She looked at Círdan as she spoke. "We will be staying for several months. Olossë has told me of your need, if I may be of service to my lord, I shall speak to my husband. If he is agreed, we may stay here for a time." Círdan's eyebrows shot up and he looked at Mithrandir, who seemed unable to hide his mirth.

"All is well Master Círdan, the child will require a wet nurse. I believe Merilin is willing to stay with you until the child no longer has need of her." Mithrandir looked to the young elleth.

"Yes My Lord," she smiled warmly.

"Well then, we will leave the two of you to get acquainted Merilin, I believe Lord Círdan and I have further matters to discuss in the library. Olossë and Tirin will bring you anything you may need," Mithrandir informed her.

He smiled at Merilin who was lifting the tiny baby from the basket. Círdan found it difficult to break his gaze away from the child, but reluctantly he did so, leading Mithrandir back to the library.

Merilin fed the baby and settled her to sleep. She then instructed the young elves to inform their lords that she would set off to her sisters home and prepare to move her family to the Grey Hall. They saw Merilin off at the door, returning to the kitchen to await further instructions.

They waited for over two hours before Círdan and Mithrandir emerged from the library. Círdan looked much less like a wild animal caught in a trap than someone resigned to his fate. Mithrandir bid farewell to Círdan, and then to Olossë and Tirin. As Tirin took the old man's arm to walk him to the door, he noticed that the he wore Lord Círdan's ring, the one with the fiery red stone. This struck Tirin as odd as he had never seen Lord Círdan without it. He wondered if the old man could be a person of import, but shook the idea off as he looked at his frayed robe and rather disheveled countenance.

The three elves stood on the terrace watching Mithrandir walk down the road. Great events were about to be set in motion due to the arrival of this former Maia, yet only Círdan could sense the power that departed with the wizard and he would tell no one, save Elrond and Celeborn, of the force that sailed into Mithlond this day.

The three elves heard the baby begin to cry. Lirúvia brought the basket back to the library and informed Lord Círdan that she was going into the village to get some things that they would need for the child's care. She also informed him that she had made all the arrangements for the arrival of Merilin and her family, who would be arriving shortly. She then left the library and headed toward the door of the Grey Hall.

Círdan ran after her into the hallway. She turned to ask if he needed something when she saw the look on his face and began to giggle. He looked at her sternly and she put her hand over her mouth to cut off the sound of her laughter. The baby in the library was crying louder now and Círdan thought that she could probably stop the mightiest of sailing vessels dead in the water with the din she created. She sounded so distressed; he was at an utter loss as to how to help her. Círdan's face then softened into one of helpless desperation. He looked at Merilin imploringly.

"What do I do with her?" He asked, raising his voice in order to make himself heard over the wailing of the tiny thing in his library. How could something that small make a sound bigger than the voice of the oldest elf in Arda?

"You take care of her my lord, the best you can. I shall not be long." Lirúvia chuckled softly as his brow furrowed in confusion, and she turned to leave.

Círdan glared at her back as she walked through the doorway. He scratched at his beard as he walked back toward the library door, when he noticed Olossë and Tirin trying to sneak through the hall from the balcony to follow Lirúvia.

"Stop!" He said firmly walking over to the elves. He grabbed each of them by the shoulder and led them into the library.

"You two go nowhere until either Lirúvia or Merilin return," his voice was ominous. Then, switching to a very matter-of-fact tone, he asked the next with the air of calm control.

"Now tell me; what does one do when a baby cries?"

"Well my lord," Olossë began, "You have to pick her up." He gestured with his hands as if speaking to a child.

Círdan looked momentarily relieved. "Of course, pick her up, yes."

His look of relief was very brief however, as another thought crossed his mind.

"And, exactly how does one pick one of these up without breaking it?"

Olossë bit his lip to keep from giggling at the sight of the tall and elegant Lord Círdan reduced to a bundle of uncertain nerves. Being an older brother himself, Olossë did not experience the same discomfort at handling small children. He bent over the basket and carefully picked up the crying baby.

Tirin told Círdan, "You should find a comfortable chair my lord, this soothing of babies can often take a great deal of time." He said knowingly. "And take care my lord, they wiggle a great deal and you must always support the head or it will flop everywhere."

Tirin grinned at the chance to impart all of his knowledge on the art of childcare to the wisest of elves that he knew. Círdan looked at him and made an annoyed face, telling the young elf that his knowledge, though helpful, was nonetheless irritating.

Círdan sat down in a large, red leather chair, rigid and bolt upright, as Olossë handed him the baby. She immediately stopped crying as he held her tiny form against his broad chest. He could feel the warmth of her through his shirt and began to relax. Olossë and Tirin watched as Círdan settled himself in the chair, stretching out one long leg on a footstool that Tirin had brought over to him. When Círdan finally gave them leave to go, he was sitting comfortably with the baby in his arms, both were yawning and looking quite content. Lirúvia found them several hours later, in the same position, fast asleep.


	3. Nothing Is Planned by the Sea and the Sa...

Quotes: ee cummings, Cheri Lee

Ionamin – my son

Mellen – friend mellenen – my friend

Elenaëar – Sea Star Gwaenúr – Wind Racer

Big thanks to my beta Ellisk and to SpaceWeevil for the horses names

**"Nothing is planned by the sea and the sand"**

The days following the arrival, and subsequent departure, of Mithrandir came filled with discovery for Círdan and the newest member of his household. The baby discovered her power to incite havoc in the Grey Hall by crying, taking great pleasure in doing so, often and loudly. She also discovered that she preferred to sleep on Círdan's chest rather than in a cradle, requiring a great deal of patience on his part. Unfortunately, for Círdan, moving too much, or too suddenly, invariably awakened the child, whereupon she would cast suspicious glances at him, making him feel guilty for having considered laying her in her bed.

Círdan's discoveries were of a much more sentient nature. He had not dreamed that he would feel so strongly for this creature, and it was rather disconcerting to learn that after all his years in Middle Earth, the one thing that could reduce him to blind panic was being unable to discover the reason behind the baby's crying. He also came to realize that he held little hope of having a moment's peace for himself ever again. When not dealing with the baby directly, he found himself worrying about her or wondering what she was doing at any given moment of the day.

Overall, the first week passed rather smoothly. Aside from the adjustments to his new life on Círdan's part and the staging of the takeover of the household on the baby's, they spent the days in relative good humor, falling completely in love with each other.

On a sunny afternoon, Círdan sat with the baby on the terrace looking out from the white stone courtyard onto the calm bay. As he looked out over the water absentmindedly playing with one wiggling little foot, Merilin, the baby's nurse, came out to join him holding her own baby in her arms.

"How fares your little one today?" Círdan asked her with a smile.

"Haldír, my lord, his _name_ is Haldír." Merilin reminded him pointedly as she sat down on the bench next to them.

Lord Círdan, not one for subtleties, looked at Merilin blankly.

"And your baby's name is?" She asked him, raising her eyebrows.

His eyes widened and he stared at Merilin for a moment before they both began to laugh. Círdan had been so absorbed with the commotion of the baby's arrival and enjoying his new role as father, he had given no thought to naming her. After some discussion on the matter and with Círdan revealing no hint of her origin, they decided on Anaiél. She had been Círdan's gift from Ossë after all, and the name fit her well.

The shipwright's patience knew no end where Anaiél was concerned, and this carried over into most other aspects of his life in Mithlond. The people of the fishing village on the firth had always loved and revered their lord, and his new warmth of character only endeared him to them more. For that reason, most had been willing to accept his strange charge without question, and he offered no explanation.

Nevertheless, there came times when Círdan caught word of whispered rumors. Some speculated that she must be the child of some distant relative from another realm. Others, less kind in their musings, insinuated worse. Anaiél was obviously not of pure Elven extraction and must ergo be the result of some distasteful liaison with a human woman, perhaps resulting in the death of the child's mother.

The worst of the speculative mumblings came from outside of Mithlond and therefore, rarely reached Círdan's ears. As Anaiél grew older, word of her existence spread throughout the communities that had close dealings with the elves of the havens. The most cynical of these people referred to Anaiél simply as 'Círdan's bastard.'

In the quiet village of the havens, however, they remained blissfully ignorant of the most malicious gossip, and Círdan continued to introduce Anaiél into all aspects of his life as lord of the elven realm. Most importantly, she needed to be aware early on that, as his daughter, she played a role of prominence in elven society and must be well prepared for that role.

Anaiél quickly became acquainted with many of the most distinguished elves of Arda. Being a person of great repute and import himself, Círdan regularly received visitors from the different Elven realms, as well as friends from among the tribes of men.

Lord Celeborn, the first to meet the child when she had been in Mithlond but a few weeks, remarked that her intellect and development seemed quite similar to the elves, though she lacked some of the physical coordination of Elven children of the same age.

Lord Elrond arrived in Mithlond accompanied by his sons, when Anaiél was six months old. They had noted that her look seemed similar to the people of Gondor, perhaps a bit darker in skin tone. No one could place the eyes, however, and only when they were alone did Lord Elrond learn of the song of Ossë.

Lord Elrond had a great affection for children. He sat at great length, holding Anaiél, laughing as he spoke to her. She responded in kind, smiling up at the great elf lord, blowing bubbles and cooing.

"Nothing could give me greater pleasure than to know that you have joined us in the ranks of fatherhood and all that goes in hand, Círdan." Lord Elrond laughed at the hand tugging on his hair as he spoke.

Círdan sighed, "I'm afraid I have begun to feel my years in this endeavor mellon, I have had little rest since she arrived. Yet, in all my years, I have had no joy to compare."

Lord Elrond smiled sympathetically. "My greatest joy in your circumstance will come when we may sit and commiserate on the antics of our children as she grows older, and begins to mortify your senses, as do mine now."

Lord Elrond cringed as the little hand gave a powerful tug to a lock of the elf's hair. The rich warm laughter of first, Círdan, and then the two together, vibrated throughout the Grey Hall.

"My little girl so wild and free, how happy you look as you dance by the sea."

Lord Glorfindel was a frequent visitor to the Firth of Lhún. He would sit for hours on the stone terrace of the Grey Hall with Círdan and Anaiél, watching the comings and goings of the village, reading or trading stories and news with the Lord of Mithlond.

As Anaiél grew older, Glorfindel began teaching her songs and poetry of the Eldar. Anaiél, enchanted by the beautiful voice of the elf lord, would try in vain to emulate the lofty arias. Unfortunately, her voice could never quite achieve the ethereal quality of Glorfindel's, and often she fell into silent frustration.

Anaiél admired and cared for all of Círdan's friends, but she worshipped and adored her father, following him everywhere he would allow. Growing up the child of Círdan, Anaiél learned to love the sea and the shore surrounding her home and it became as much a part of her as it was of her father.

She loved to run barefoot along the sand with Tirin and Olossë, and they taught her how to run her fastest and outfox anyone who was chasing her by alluding their grasp. She became so good at this that there came a time when neither Tirin nor Olossë could catch her anymore.

Since the time of her coming to Mithlond, Tirin and Olossë had been devoted to the child and treated her as if she were their own, protecting her as brothers, teaching her to swim, ride horseback and fight like a boy

Anaiél also developed an impish sense of humor under the tutelage of the two older elves, as well as an affinity for practical jokes, an affinity that Círdan had been forced, on several occasions, to rein in. More than once there had been meetings between the two boys and the elf lord regarding Anaíel's station, and the need for proper decorum.

Anaíel's closest friend was Merilin's son Haldír. As they grew older, they became inseparable and some of the best times of her childhood she spent in his company. Although Merilin, her husband, Beldír and Haldír returned to Lorien just after Anaíel's first year, there followed many subsequent visits between Mithlond, and the forest home of Haldír and his family. The young ones insisted on it as often as possible

Anaiél adored Haldír's mother and father as well, spending every moment she could with them when they came to Mithlond. Merilin and Beldír's visits became less frequent, however when Amroth, King of Lorien, set Beldír as warden of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. Subsequently, much of his time had to be spent traveling to and from Imladris with them. Haldír was immensely proud of his father and vowed that someday, he would assume his role.

On several occasions, Beldír accompanied Lord Celeborn to the Grey Hall, bringing Haldír with them. On these visits, Beldír spent his time, taking them out fishing or riding and patiently working long hours with Anaiél, teaching her the finer points of archery, much to Haldír's amusement.

Haldír came to Mithlond nearly every summer to spend time near the sea, and he and Anaiél passed the days whispering secrets to each other, and playing on the water's edge. Haldír became her steadfast protector against some of the crueler young elves in Mithlond. He would rise to defend her against those who teased her about her dark features or her strange ears. He never seemed to notice her differences otherwise, and she missed him terribly when he was not there.

Many times, after overhearing a particularly harsh word regarding her appearance, or her ambivalent parentage, Anaiél locked herself in her room, refusing to come out until Círdan ordered her to do so. They then spent hours talking about her origin. He held her in his lap, telling her of her unusual begetting and the love with which Círdan had welcomed her into her home, and his heart.

At times, Anaiél felt a desperate longing to be the same as her father's people, at others she delighted in her differences. However, many times she felt isolated and alone, unable or unwilling to share her solitude with her father. She wondered about her place in the world and how she fit in, if she would marry and have children, or be precluded from both by her differences, wandering alone and lonely.

The thought of that solitude terrified Anaiél, haunting her dreams. She avoided sharing these thoughts with Círdan, not wanting to hurt or upset him. She saved them for when she could talk to Haldír, her best friend, and keeper of her secrets. He always knew exactly what she needed, when to listen, when to advise and when to tease her out of her reverie.

It was along the water's edge that many of Anaíel's most difficult questions received answers, in music sung to the water by Ulmo and Ossë. She learned the song of her origin, its lyric answering many of the questions that the child had posed to the dark and had gone unanswered for too long.

Uinen brought her a wonderful symphony of the newfound peace of Ossë. Though still wild and impetuous, the rage and self-loathing that had driven him for centuries no longer haunted him. Uinen's song gave Anaiél a sense of understanding. Though sorrow and guilt had driven Ossë to the shore on the day of her begetting, love had been what had moved him to create her song.

Uinen also taught her the songs of the ancient mariners and those of the Vanyar and the Noldor. They taught her much of Aman and the Valar, but there was still much she had yet to learn, things that Ulmo alone could not teach her.

In Anaíel's eighth year, Ulmo bid Lord Círdan to take the child to the Tower of Elostirion. Here she saw for the first time, the Palantir of Elendil. On many occasions throughout her childhood, she traveled to the room at the top of the tallest of the white towers, to look into the stone.

At this point, the Valar began singing knowledge to Anaiél of many things. She learned all she needed to know of the history of Arda and its people from these visits, and Círdan noticed that after each one, she seemed to mature and become more accepting of herself. She passed hours listening to Estë sing a song she could scarcely follow, only catching fragments of the cadence and lyric.

She learned to speak Quenya as well as mastering Sindarin, the common speech and others, some of which Círdan recognized, and others that he could not define. She seemed to take more knowledge than she would ever need from the stone, filing it away, never using it inadvertently. However, he knew she remembered, for there had been times when she had come to him, questioning him about strange histories of which the wise old elf new nothing.

At other times, she became withdrawn, going inside herself, as if processing the information given to her by the Valar. After spending hours alone, she would seek Círdan out, on the terrace or in the library, crawling into his lap and looking into his face sadly. She held on to him tightly, sometimes crying into his broad chest. He knew inherently that on these occasions, the stone had revealed to her some particular aspect of his own history.

There had been times when Anaiél let enough information slip for Círdan to know the specific event of which she had learned. More than once, after having to clarify some particularly painful tale for her, they wept together.

**Those darned teenagers!**

When Anaiél turned thirty-five, Haldír and his father came to take her to Imladris, her first trip without Círdan. She was to meet with Lady Galadriel, and apparently, this made everyone quite nervous. Círdan spent weeks going over lessons of proper etiquette, speech, attire and table manners. He stressed constantly, the need for her to remember that she would be a reflection of her father, and to comport herself with utmost dignity at all times.

Anaiél sat in the study for hours listening to Lirúvia's admonishments to remember all that Arwen had taught her, and when all else failed, to simply follow the example she set. She was to be on her best behavior and, under no circumstances were she and Haldír to sing any of the songs that they had learned from the mariners during the past summer.

Finally, they set out for Imladris on an early spring morning after much fussing on Lirúvia's part, and a few tears on Anaíel's over the impending separation from her ada for six months. Anaiél rode accompanied by Tirin and Olossë, as well as the party from Imladris. She was delighted to see that Elrohir and Elladan, the twin sons of Lord Elrond, would be traveling with them as well. They had often teased her mercilessly on her many visits to Imladris, and she looked forward to showing off her newly acquired, and frighteningly inaccurate skill with bow and arrow.

Anaiél asked Elladan if he could sit for her as she attempted to shoot a piece of fruit from his head. Elrohir reassured his horrified brother that he had little to fear; in front of Anaíel's bow was the safest place to be as it was most likely to be where she would be aiming. They spent the next few minutes dodging pebbles thrown at them by the affronted archer.

The party traveled at a leisurely pace, in no great hurry to arrive. They sidetracked several times, lured by the promise of game, or some area they wished to explore. They spent two days on the bank of the Baranduin, fishing and hunting. Beldír was patient with these little side-trips. It was not until they neared the Trollshaws on the ancient road eastward, that he began to feel uneasy. Allowing the others to ride in front, he spoke to Elladan and Elrohir of his concern. Elladan then departed from the company without a word, riding swiftly eastward.

Suddenly, the lighthearted group began to grow tense and alert. Bringing his horse up to ride next to Haldír, Beldír began reiterating to his son what he already knew.

"If anything happens, ionamin, you are to leave the road. You and Anaiél make for the trees and remain there, no matter what happens, until the danger has passed."

He reached over, placing his hand on his son's shoulder, lowering his head to look him in the eyes.

"You are responsible for Anaiél, stay together; keep yourselves safe."

Haldír reassured his father with a nod, and Beldír smiled at his son with pride and confidence as he urged his horse ahead to rejoin Elrohir.

Tirin and Olossë came riding behind them, stringing their bows and keeping close vigil on the northern expanse between the road and the trees of the Trollshaws. Olossë doubled back several times, blending in with the trees along the roadside, assuring that no danger approached the party from behind.

Anaiél had not seen this side of her friends before, and she was slightly in awe of how quickly their easygoing demeanor changed at the hint of danger. She realized then that Tirin and Olossë were no longer boys but young men, and a powerful force in their own right. Gone were the laughing faces and light-hearted banter of the party. The levity now replaced by masks of intense warriors, alert and ready to counter any attack launched against themselves and those they cared for.

Following their example, Anaiél grew quiet and watchful. She had never experienced a threat to her physical safety, but Círdan had taught her enough to know that her part was to keep silent, follow instructions and stay out of the way. Haldír rode by her side and tried to ease her fear by staying as close as possible without impeding their horses.

Haldír was watching the road carefully when he suddenly looked at Anaiél then motioned with his eyes toward the east. Anaíel's vision, though acute, had never become as far reaching as that of the elves. Seeing two riders approach, she squinted, trying unsuccessfully to make out their faces.

"Elladan returns," he whispered, "he rides with Glorfindel."

Haldír gave her a teasing grin as Anaiél wrinkled her nose. Both remembered a summer ten years earlier when Glorfindel had come to the Grey Hall to meet with her father. She and Haldír had been playing on the docks in the harbor and had inadvertently caused some discomfort to Lord Glorfindel

Glorfindel had always treated Anaiél with warmth and kindness, but as the years passed, he became rather solitary. He would often walk on the docks alone, lost in thought, looking out over the water toward the west. Unfortunately for Glorfindel, it was during one of his forays to the bay that Anaiél had had enough of Haldír's teasing about her archery skills, and decided that the time had come to take action.

Armed with a bucket of stagnant seawater that had been sitting in the sun for Eru alone knew how many days, Anaiél hid behind some barrels that sat on the stone wharf, waiting to be loaded onto one of the ships. She lay in wait, growing impatient until she heard footsteps approaching. When she judged the sound close enough, she jumped up and doused her victim with the malodorous contents of the pale. She was mortified when she looked up and saw, not Haldír, but Lord Glorfindel, soaking wet, staring at Anaiél in utter disbelief.

As often happened when she was extremely embarrassed, Anaiél began to giggle hysterically. She clamped her hands over her mouth and looked pleadingly at Glorfindel, who was looking back at her with wide eyes, his head tilted slightly, a look of disgust on his usually serene face. Círdan found them moments later, Glorfindel drenched to the skin and rather unpleasant smelling; Anaiél, still trying to control her giggling, an empty bucket swaying in her hand.

Círdan approached his daughter, took the bucket from her, and silently turned her around to lead her from the docks. She did not see him, but as they turned to leave, Glorfindel began to laugh silently as Círdan simply shook his head in dismay. Anaiél became the recipient of a long and severe scolding as she and Círdan made their way back to the Grey Hall. She was so ashamed that she spent the remainder of Lord Glorfindel's visit trying desperately to avoid him.

For the first few years after the incident, whenever they chanced to meet, Anaiél would greet Glorfindel pleasantly enough but beyond that, she would try her best to stay out of his way. However, during his last few visits, she had grown annoyed with the embarrassment he made her feel. He had a habit of smiling vaguely when he greeted her, as if teasing her about her childhood indiscretion. She would bow to him with an air of sarcasm, and then make it a point to completely ignore him.

Anaiél drew herself out of her thoughts as Elladan and Glorfindel approached, Glorfindel giving her a slight bow of the head as he passed, drawing Beldír aside. The late afternoon sun dipped below the horizon, the growing darkness adding to her feeling of anxiety. She tried not to show her fear as she stared straight ahead into the deepening night. Haldír noticed that Anaiél looked frightened and briefly took his friend's hand to comfort her. She looked at him, smiling nervously.

The party moved on cautiously, without a sound. Appearing in front of them, Elladan stood at the head of Anaíel's horse, halting the mare. He motioned to Haldír to stop as well, turning his head slightly; listening for something that her own ears were yet unable to register.

"Anaiél, dismount quickly, Haldír, do the same and ready your bow." Elladan was speaking in an urgent whisper.

Haldír nodded as Elladan added, "move to the tree line and stay quiet."

Haldír and Anaiél jumped down from their mounts, releasing them. Glorfindel stood with his steed, Gwaenúr and the other horses, whispering to them quietly. The animals then disappeared from sight. The pair walked quietly down the slight decline at the southern edge of the road, toward the sparse line of beech trees, Anaiél with a death grip on Haldír's tunic. They knelt at the foot of a thick trunk, and looked toward the northern side of the road

From a distance, Anaiél saw Beldír look back toward them several times to reassure himself that they were safe, before turning his full attention in the direction of the threat. Beldír stood with his bow at the ready, waiting. Elladan and Glorfindel began moving cautiously toward the road. Elrohir stayed in front of Haldír and Anaiél, not so close as to draw attention to them, but close enough to protect them.

Looking around in worry, Anaiél finally caught sight of Tirin and Olossë on the far side of where Beldír stood, watching intently, with their weapons ready. They spoke quietly to each other, planning their strategy with hand signals and a few well-chosen words.

Glorfindel slowly withdrew his sword from its sheath without the slightest whisper, as Elladan nocked an arrow into his bow, almost too quickly for Anaíel's eyes to follow. She held her breath as she finally heard what it was that they had been listening for. A low, feral growl and then, quiet again.

"Wolves from the north," whispered Haldír, as he knelt near her, nocking an arrow into his own bow. "What could have driven them this close to the road?"

As they stared across the ancient path toward the southern line of the Trollshaws, they saw the movement of men among the trees. Anaiél focused as hard as she could and saw a group of several men, peering from behind the trunk of a large beech. They were filthy looking with matted beards and long scraggly hair. She wondered what type of men traveled with a wolf pack, thinking they were most likely thieves and murderers, driven out to the road by hunger or some other need.

She saw Glorfindel motion to Elladan before they moved off toward the road, staying low on the incline. Six of the horrific beasts began to emerge out of the trees on the northern edge. Anaiél drew in a breath as she saw the wolves for the first time. They were huge, unnatural looking creatures, starved and diseased. They advanced carefully at first, moving in unison like some demonic army, their sharp teeth exposed and dripping with saliva.

As the men appeared from behind the trees and stood watching, she saw wolf eyes glowing amber in the moonlight, searching out the weakest of the elves to prey upon. Their hideous faces contorted in hunger and rage. Anaiél and Haldír's nostrils flared as the sickly stench of human and beast reached them. The largest of the six wolves let out a blood chilling howl, and suddenly the beasts converged at a dead run.

One of the smaller wolves took a run at Beldír, seeming to grin maniacally as it grew closer. Beldír shot his arrow, hitting the crazed animal in the neck. He nocked a second arrow and this time aimed for the gaping mouth. It fell to the ground near Beldír's feet, grunting and thrashing its head in an effort to shake off the arrow lodged in its gullet. It then heaved several loud, gasping breaths before it lay still.

As the elves concentrated on taking down the animals, Anaiél and Haldír saw the men running northward, cutting across the road, thinking themselves hidden by the night. As soon as they reached the trees on the south side of the old road, they turned west, heading toward them with what seemed to be clubs, or awkwardly crafted bows.

Anaiél nervously looked back to see two of the beasts running toward Elrohir, his eyes darted from one to the other and in a split second, he had brought down the smaller of the two. The second doubled back, skidding to a halt behind a tree as it turned to see Elrohir nocking another arrow, then skulked off to the east. Tirin and Olossë ran off in pursuit of the retreating warg as Elrohir quickly turned his attention to his brother and Glorfindel.

The two largest of the wargs had set upon Glorfindel and Elladan. Elladan shot an arrow into one of the beasts back yet it kept coming, making a hideous screaming sound. Glorfindel dispatched it with one stroke of his sword, nearly beheading it completely. Anaiél gripped the trunk of the tree, turning her head as the animal's body continued to twitch for several moments in a macabre death dance.

Anaiél heard, but gratefully did not see the two elves dispatch the second of the wolves. The thing screamed and raged in its death throes and she could only imagine what could have reduced the insane beast to such plaintive panic. She watched the sixth run off into the tree line on the northern side of the road.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Haldír aim his bow toward a tree just to the south of where they stood. In the common tongue, Haldír spoke to the tree.

"If you value your skin, reveal the rest of it before I put an arrow in the southern portion."

Anaiél squinted and saw that the raggedly clad posterior of a man was indeed visible from behind the narrow trunk of a young beech. Haldír waited coolly for a response, his head slightly lowered and his eyes staring, unblinking. He stood fixed like a statue focusing on his prey without even the slightest wavering of his hand. Anaiél looked on in amazement at the complete absence of nerves exhibited by her friend.

Haldír seemed inclined to wait as long as necessary for the ragged man to realize that he had been seen, and was being called out into the open. Someone from behind them, however, was not as patient.

An arrow cut past them at just the precise angle, hitting the trunk with impeccable accuracy, pinning the man's pants to the tree. The man let out a high pitched scream, thrashing his leg until he freed himself and running off toward the south, leaving a good deal of his trousers and perhaps a piece of his own hide, nailed to the tree by the arrow of Glorfindel.

Haldír and Anaiél looked behind them in unison to see Glorfindel sheath his bow. Haldír looked around cautiously, winked at Anaiél, and went to join the other elves standing with weapons at the ready, looking around carefully for men or beasts. Satisfied that the threat had passed, they began to call quietly for the horses. As soon as Anaiél had assured that her mare, Elenëar, was with them, she turned her back to the tree and sat in the dirt.

Anaiél had been breathing shallowly during the entire attack, and she now felt somewhat light headed. Holding her head down, she took a moment to catch her breath. She got her feet under her to stand and raised her head to see a pair of amber eyes staring into her own. The wolf was nearly close enough to pounce on her in one leap, and it licked its jowls hungrily, growling deep in its throat.

Anaiél could not move; she could not cry out for help; she could not even breathe. Tears fell from her eyes but she dared not blink. She could have sworn she saw the ugly thing grin, its mouth foaming, eyes crazed with hunger.

Anaiél darted her eyes from left to right but there was nowhere for her to run, if she tried, the disgusting thing would be on her in a flash. So she stared at it, willing it to die, or go away, or simply disappear. It seemed as if she sat there for an eternity staring down the warg, and praying to Eru for some magical power to save her. The beast with the huge head sat on its haunches, glaring at her, growling even louder and panting heavily.

Anaiél saw the animal tense and closed her eyes, not wanting to watch the freakish thing with that look of perverse glee on its face, if it began to charge at her. As she heard the beast begin to launch its attack, she closed her eyes tighter, awaiting her impending death.

Suddenly, Anaiél heard the faint sound of steel ringing, followed by a heavy object slicing through the air, coming from the west. She opened her eyes to see the wolf staggering to the ground, a long knife protruding from the side of its head. Its fading eyes stared at her accusingly as the wretched thing rolled on its side and lay twitching, just a few feet from where she knelt.

Glorfindel and Beldír ran up to the still moving wolf as Beldír proceeded to shoot several arrows into the animal. He wore a look of passionate anger as he shot. He then turned to look at Anaiél and his features softened. He sighed with relief, giving her a dazzling smile. She smiled back weakly.

Glorfindel looked at her as well, but he was not smiling, not even a little. He looked angry as he grabbed her by the arm with one hand, lifting her up like a sack of grain, gritting his teeth as he spoke.

"What was that Anaiél, if you can not see it, it is not there?"

She realized he was referring to her very shrewd tactic of closing her eyes to ward off the attacking wolf.

"Perhaps this will teach you to follow instructions when you are told to stay with Haldír," he said acidly. "Your father would drown the lot of us in the waters of the Lhún if anything were to happen to you. Perhaps next time, if not for yourself, than for our sakes, you will do as you are told."

Glorfindel released her arm with a quick jerk and Anaiél looked at him with her mouth open as he turned his back on her to withdraw his knife from the dead wolf's skull. She blinked her eyes several times before what he had just done registered in her mind. Realizing that Glorfindel was reprimanding her rather harshly, she frowned intently and took a deep breath. Walking quickly to her side, Haldír grabbed one clenched fist and led her away.

As they came to a standstill by their horses, Anaiél turned to Haldír.

"Why did you do that?" she demanded to know, taking her hand from his to rub the arm so recently offended by Glorfindel.

"Mellen, I have been the recipient of that look too many times through the years. When you get that wrinkle right there," he tapped her on her forehead just above the bridge of her nose, "no pleasantries are likely forthcoming."

"But you heard him Haldír, he was scolding me," she said indignantly. "Who does he think he is? I did as I was told, and he scolded me. He was _scolding_ me." She shook her head incredulously as they mounted their horses.

"Yes he did, mellen, he did indeed." Haldír laughed, "and do not think I will not be hearing of this from my father. I was the one who was supposed to stay with you."

He spoke softly to the horses as Anaiél pouted, and they began to follow the other elves, eastward toward Imladris.

Anaiél looked at her friend and said, "but, Haldír?"

"Yes Mellenen?'

"He scolded me."

"Yes."

"Big orc."

They both began to giggle quietly.


	4. Galadriel

**My interpretation of Galadriel is what it is; I know there may be others.**

**Quotes: Blue Oyster Cult, Euripides, William Shakespeare**

**Mellen mellon – friend mellenen – my friend ada – father miruvor – elven cordial **

"**And if one day she comes to you, drink deeply from her words so wise. ****Take courage from her as your prize, and say hello for me."**

The traveling party managed to arrive in Imladris without further incident. Lord Elrond seemed to know the precise moment that they passed through the gates. Elves from the stables stood waiting to take their horses, and a young elleth came to escort Anaiél to her room. Anaiél recognized Merineth, and they greeted each other warmly. Excusing herself from the rest of the party, she followed the elleth across the courtyard toward Lord Elrond's home.

Anaiél looked around the long terrace that stretched the eastern expanse of Imladris as warm memories flooded her mind of meals taken in the great dining hall and long walks through gardens that seemed to go on until becoming part of the beautiful valley surrounding Lord Elrond's home. She recalled summer days rolling in the grass of the lawns with Haldír, or splashing in the water, which flowed from falls and small pools all around the grounds.

Most fondly of all, she remembered cool nights spent in her favorite room of the house, the Hall of Fire. Some nights, the room rang with laughter and music as friends gathered to sing, recite poetry or discuss philosophy, with Master Erestor as moderator. Often they would sit talking until sunrise about politics, art, healing, or the favorite subject of her ada and Lord Elrond, history.

There were other nights when, although filled with people, the hall was as quiet and peaceful as a shrine, each person present lost in their own quiet reverie. Lord Elrond could usually be found on these nights, engrossed in a book as others worked at some craft, or simply stared into the huge fire in the center of the hall, enjoying the absolute peace of the moment.

They arrived at her quarters as Anaiél brought herself out of her own thoughts, smiling at Merineth and thanking her. The elleth informed her that Lord Elrond would see her at dinner, leaving Anaiél to recover from her long trip in peace.

Several hours later, bathed and rested, Anaiél headed for the dining hall. As she entered the room, her eyes immediately lit upon Lord Elrond's end of the table. As this evening's meal was an informal affair, he sat not at the head of the table, but at the side of his beautiful wife, Celebrian. Across from them, Lord Celeborn, and his wife Lady Galadriel joined them.

The Great Lord and Lady sat talking and laughing easily with their daughter and her handsome husband. Anaiél went to the table to formally greet the illustrious quartet. She bid a warm good evening to Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrian and gave them the latest news of her father and the havens. She felt equally comfortable as she met Lord Celeborn's gaze. She had not only met him many times in Imladris, he often traveled to Mithlond to meet with her ada.

Anaiél then turned toward Lady Galadriel, and as she spoke her greeting, she felt her face flush. She had always felt slightly awkward in her presence. She did not know her as well as she knew Celeborn, for the lady rarely traveled to Mithlond with her husband, and the times that Anaiél spent in Lorien had been fully occupied with Haldír and his family.

Anaiél realized that it was something more than simple lack of familiarity that made her feel clumsy and awkward in the presence of Galadriel, however. She had a magnificent presence that radiated from her fëa and overwhelmed Anaiél. People spoke highly of her compassion and wisdom, and most notably, her ability to connect with a persons mind and heart. Anaiél knew that the lady wanted to meet with her for a purpose, and that was the greatest cause of the child's unease.

Lady Galadriel's interest confused her. What could Anaiél possibly have on her mind that she would find anything more than childish and insipid? Anaiél also knew that the lady was one of a select few people in Arda who knew of her true origin. This group was limited to Lords Elrond, Celeborn and Glorfindel, as well as her father's friend Mithrandir and of course, unbeknownst to any of them, Haldír.

The child knew how the others regarded her, they had all spoken to her at length on different occasions, making her feel accepted with great affection, but she wondered about how Galadriel felt. Did she find her an object of curiosity as many other, less informed people did? Did the lady find her offensive or crude or resent her cheek at imposing herself on others as if she were truly a descendant of the great Telerin, Lord Círdan? All these things passed through Anaíel's mind whenever she thought of the impending meeting.

For all her reservations and fears, Anaiél bore an intense curiosity regarding what she herself might see, if anything, in Galadriel. She new much of the factual history of the lady, but wondered at how she had dealt with so much loss and sorrow.

That evening, as everyone gathered in the Hall of Fire, sipping Lord Elrond's miruvor, and enjoying the quiet of the evening, Lady Galadriel invited Anaiél to join her in the garden. Anaiél felt her stomach leap with anticipation and fear as they walked out onto the terrace and the western expanse of the lawn.

"I understand you had quite an adventure during your trip, Anaiél," Lady Galadriel began, "I trust you are well after your ordeal?"

"Yes my lady," Anaiél replied, "I was quite well protected the entire time."

Galadriel looked into Anaíel's eyes. The beautiful lady towered over her. Nearly as tall as Lord Celeborn, the Lady of Light was no wilting flower. She was powerful and impressive, as strong as she was beautiful. Though there seemed to be no trace of arrogance in her, she had the look of one well accustomed to imposing her will.

Anaiél had often wondered how a woman with Galadriel's strength and bearing could manage to get on so well with an elf lord such as her husband. Lord Celeborn's presence easily equaled that of Galadriel and he seemed unlikely to abide being tributary to anyone. She thought, perhaps she had learned the answer the previous summer, here in Imladris.

Anaiél had come across the couple on the terrace one evening as she wandered out for some air. The two had been so absorbed in their own conversation, that they had not noticed her standing in the shadows. She had never witnessed such an intimate moment between a husband and wife and her curiosity held her in place.

Though Anaiél could not hear their voices, she imagined, from the look in Galadriel's eyes, that Celeborn was saying the cleverest thing she had ever heard. She looked utterly engaged by the sound of Celeborn's voice, and he looked into her eyes as he spoke, as though he could see the very shores of Aman within them.

Anaiél had returned to the hall, wondering if she would ever experience such depth of emotion with another being. The scene on the terrace, and the doubt in her own heart made her feel sad at the prospect of never finding that for herself.

As they stood now on the lawn, Lady Galadriel took Anaíel's hand and smiled softly as she wordlessly asked for her consent. Anaiél nodded and Galadriel smiled in return, she quickly felt herself giving in to the lady's gentle urging. Then Galadriel did something that Anaiél did not expect, she began to let her see. She allowed Anaiél to travel her history for a brief moment.

Galadriel had experienced so much loss. Through the long years of the War of the Silmarils, many of her kin had perished. The horror of the kinslaying had devastated her, she had done all she could but had been powerless to stop it.

Galadriel showed Anaiél her flight to the shores of Aman with the Noldor, and the subsequent banishment of her people from Valinor. Left behind by Fëanor; perceived as disloyal, she later forged her way to Arda across the deadly ice floes of the Helcaraxe, leaving her father behind to seek the pardon of the Valar.

Many more elves died on that long journey across the frozen path to Middle Earth. Anaiél sensed the grief in Galadriel's heart, for she had been one of those who had led her people to their deaths. Those who survived, arrived in Beleriand, and then traveled on to Doriath, where Galadriel met and fell in love with Celeborn.

Galadriel had overcome so much, rising to a position of great esteem and power among the elves of Arda. However, there was one thing that weighed heavy upon the heart of the daughter of Finarfin; The Doom of Mandos. She had been banished from The Blessed Shores for her refusal to heed the warning of the Vala and remain in Aman. Galadriel's grief touched her deeply.

Anaiél felt the focus shift to her own thoughts as Galadriel felt her loneliness and insecurity and sighed in understanding. She could hear Galadriel speaking to her, though no word escaped her lips.

"We are not so different, you and I, little one. We each of us have our doubts and fears. Do not be concerned for these things child, for you will not be left alone." She smiled as her thoughts soothed Anaiél.

Galadriel then began to speak aloud. "A shadow begins to move in Arda, I sense its presence, as yet unseen, forming upon the fringes of light once more. A darkness will cover this land in years to come, through which I cannot see to the other side."

Anaiél looked at Galadriel quizzically and she seemed to grow taller as she spoke.

"If indeed Arda arrives at the other side of this veil, your days here will be just beginning and the passing of time will weigh heavy on those who wait with you."

Anaíel's eyes reflected her surprise as Galadriel spoke of her own future.

"Your destiny lies within a circle, in a far distant future, a future that is ambivalent at best. You must be strong and cling to those you hold dear in your heart."

Anaiél held her breath, praying that Galadriel would continue.

"Though the appointed task lies far ahead, the links are being forged even now, each bringing gifts in accordance with their own strengths. You, Anaiél, must remember; if one link weakens, the entire chain could suffer the fall."

Galadriel looked off into the far distance as if lost in thought. Anaiél felt more confused than ever. She longed for understanding but she could not speak.

"There is much that you know from Ulmo, and yet your knowledge remains a riddle to you. Do not despair, for all you need to fulfill your task will come to you at the appointed time."

"The link of power, and wisdom of the ages past, will guide you all. Renewal and temperance shall join with honor, fealty and brotherhood, and at the center, a being of benevolence and love. Far reaching is the compassion and understanding of this link."

The light of the moon and the stars themselves seemed to dim as Galadriel continued, her voice sounding a warning.

"Take heed, child of design, for there is one who will turn away from the rest. The present age shall pass as will others, and the lingering years will deepen his resentment. Though I am not given the grace to see this, I fear in my heart that he will carry a threat through the ages that will not be dimmed by time."

"You must trust the circle, joining your strength to hold fast. No one link can stand alone without the others. The mark of the forging will tell you of those who are true."

Anaiél felt as if she were being spoken to in a language unknown to her, she looked to Galadriel for understanding, but the lady offered none. Galadriel smiled sympathetically as Anaiél countered with one of resignation and gratitude.

Galadriel continued to linger, prolonging the bond she had forged with her until Anaiél felt a dull pain building in her head, as a foreign thought from a great distance began to form in her mind. It pushed at the edges of the pain until it freed itself, and followed the lingering connection to Galadriel.

"There is hope, daughter of the Noldor. If you remain true, you shall pass the test." Anaiél felt the words rip through her, causing a blinding light to stab at her from behind her eyes.

Anaiél gasped as the pain ebbed, and Galadriel began moving away from her thoughts, silently reassuring that she was well, before retreating completely. Anaiél expected to feel a severing of the connection when it was over, but instead felt a peace drifting to her like a soothing whisper, helping to further lessen the pain behind her eyes.

Silently, they returned to the house to join the others. Soon after, Anaiél excused herself and retired for the evening. As she left the Hall of Fire, Glorfindel watched silently from a dark corner, a look of concern on his face as she passed without noticing.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Anaiél felt a breeze coming in through the window as it cooled her face. Though the pain had subsided a great deal since she left the garden, her head continued to pound and she felt slightly queasy.

She noticed a small drop of crimson fall onto the pale blue linen of her dress, and she absentmindedly brought a hand to her nose, feeling the small stream of blood as it trickled down her face.

Anaiél moaned softly as another wave of pain hit her. She remembered little of what Galadriel had told her and what she did recall she could make no sense of while her head ached so.

She cleaned the blood from her face with the hem of her dress, too tired to search for something more appropriate. She dropped her head onto the bed, covered her eyes with the back of her hand, and immediately fell into an exhausted sleep.

From the terrace just outside the window, Glorfindel quietly watched in concern, as Anaiél seemed to sway on the edge of the bed. As she lay back and cover her eyes, he saw traces of blood on her face. He immediately came around to the door of her room, quietly entering so as not to disturb her. He checked her color and breathing then found a coverlet to lie over her sleeping form. Assured that she was well, he left the room, closing the door behind him.

**Balrogs, breakfast of champions!**

The next morning in the dining hall, Anaiél was lost in thought, trying to remember all that had occurred the evening before. Galadriel had smiled at her so kindly when they met this morning that she was warmed by it still. Her mind raced with all they had spoken of as she absentmindedly pushed her food around her plate, never actually bringing any to her mouth.

Anaiél was completely unaware of her surroundings as she tried to sort her thoughts, when she heard someone clearing their throat. She looked up to see Lord Glorfindel looking at her strangely.

"Good day, Anaiél," he greeted her with a smile.

He seemed to be scrutinizing her for something and Anaiél gave him an annoyed, childish look. She remembered his last words to her at the edge of the Trollshaws on the east road to Imladris and her irritation flared.

"Good day, Lord Glorfindel," she replied.

She attempted to frown, which served only to cause the small pain that remained behind her eyes to flare. This, in turn, heightened her annoyance.

"Off to search for more babes to bruise today, my lord?" She asked quietly but with a great deal of sarcasm.

"You are hardly a babe, Anaiél, although your behavior would prove otherwise," he retorted with a grin.

"May the Valar bless you with a balrog for target practice today." she replied, doing her best to sound cheerful and gracious but with a look of understanding that belied her age, knowing that she would hit her mark.

Glorfindel flinched ever so slightly in irritation, but she had seen, and the look of satisfaction in her eyes made his hand itch to pour the pitcher of water on the table in front of her, right over the top of her pretty little head. Instead, his smile grew brighter, a spark of warning that made Anaiél flinch inwardly, lit his eyes.

"Forgive me," Glorfindel bowed his head almost imperceptibly, and ever so arrogantly as he continued to flash his smile. "I am afraid my turn at minding the nursery brat came to an end yesterday."

He turned and took his leave, certain that but for the presence of Lord Elrond and company, he would surely have been wearing the child's breakfast on the back of his tunic by now. He shook his head and laughed, as he often did after a run in with the daughter of Círdan, wondering if she would ever see her way to forgive him for getting doused with water by an unruly child with a passion for practical joking.

Anaíel's eyes bore into Glorfindel's back as he left the hall. She sighed dramatically and returned to the task of moving her food from one side of her plate to the other.

**"To generous souls, every task is noble."  
**

Anaiél and Haldír stretched out in the cool grass of the garden, barefoot and relaxed in the peaceful afternoon sun. Anaiél rested on her back at an angle from Haldír, their leggings intertwined like the limbs of two gangly young colts.

Haldír was on his stomach, knees bent, feet dangling in the air, reading from a book of poetry lent to him by Master Erestor from Lord Elrond's library. The poem was one of Lord Elrond's own, an ode to his beautiful wife.

As Haldír came to the end of the sonnet, Anaiél looked away toward the far end of the garden, her eyes misting as she tried to push away the thoughts that came uninvited, like a cloud to spoil this beautiful day.

"What is it mellenen?" Haldír asked.

"What is what, Haldír?" She did not look at him as she replied.

"Ana," he said sternly, giving her a look of warning that was all too familiar to her.

She knew exactly what he was thinking. She was mad if she thought for one moment that he intended to play _that_ game with her. Something bothered her and she would give it up to him, minus the game of coy ignorance he so loathed, or she would find herself sitting in the fountain that graced the center of the grassy rise where they lay. She raised herself up on her elbows and looked at him.

"I am tired, mellon, and confused, and my head hurts."

Knowing he would not be satisfied with such a broad statement; yet hoping against hope that it would do for now, Anaiél hesitated. Haldír simply looked at her, waiting patiently for her to continue.

With a sigh of resignation and a roll of her eyes, Anaiél laid her head back on the grass and went on. She spoke to him of all that she remembered from the previous night in the garden with Galadriel. When at length she came to the end of her story, she began to voice her fears to him.

"She spoke to me of things which made little or no sense at all. I do not understand. It just seems all so big…so beyond me. I do not know what is expected of me or where I belong in this mystery. It makes me feel small and inadequate…and alone."

Her last words stabbed at Haldír's heart. He knew all too well of Anaíel's fear. She confided everything to him, from what she knew of her begetting and her coming to Arda to her most intimate hopes and dreams, and he was the only other being who knew of her paralyzing fear of being alone.

He knew also of her connection with Ulmo and the time she spent with the palantir. He had often wondered what that must be like for her, to be singled, not understanding why or what it meant. He wondered no longer, for last night as he rested and Anaiél stood in the garden with Galadriel, Nienna had spoken to Haldír from a dream.

"You speak of the circle of hands then, mellen?" He asked with a small smile.

Her jaw dropped and she looked at him in amazement, wondering why those words sounded as familiar to her as her own name? She tried hard to remember if she had heard them last night. Suddenly, a suspicious thought crossed her mind, and she squinted her eyes as she looked at Haldír accusingly.

"You know, eaves dropping on private conversations is an offense bearing penalty of death in my part of this garden. Tell me what you know or move your legs oaf, so that I may away to find a rope by which to swing you from," she said with great flare, though she made no move to rise.

She pulled a long blade of grass with a tasseled end from the lawn. Absentmindedly running the soft fluff across her chin, she looked expectantly at Haldír.  
As she awaited an explanation, her smile began to fade; the serious look in his eyes concerned her.

"There is naught to tell you Anaiél, I was asked and I answered," he said.

He looked down at the book he still held in his hands. Anaíel's heart filled with hope and dread. She swallowed hard, unsure if she really wanted to know the answer to her next question. Gathering her courage, she asked anyway.

"And your reply?" Her voice was barely a whisper, and she held her breath as she waited.

"My reply?" He sounded as if she should already know. "My reply was yes, I will wait with you."

He turned on his side, planting his elbow in the grass and resting his head in the palm of his hand. Reaching out to her, he took her hand and made a promise to her that would never be broken.

"I will be there for you always mellen, as I always have been. Do you doubt me?"

His voice held a hint of disappointment, he hated that she seemed unsure of his devotion to their friendship, or that she could believe it to be any less than her own. She saw the hurt in his eyes, and her own eyes filled with tears.

"We are still children Haldír, why are you being asked to decide this now? It seems it will be a long wait if the time ever comes at all. Ages will pass? What does that mean? That is a great deal to ask of anyone, even a best friend." As she finished, her breath hitched slightly as tears ran down her cheeks

"Ages may be just long enough, Ana," he said with a sympathetic smile.

Her voice wavered as she looked sideway at him, trying to stem her tears.

"Long enough for what?"

"Long enough to teach you how to shoot an arrow into a lake and perhaps hit water."

Haldír laughed, and as he did so, his voice cracked for a brief moment becoming a rather manly, Beldír sounding laugh.

"Haldír?" Anaiél pushed herself up to rest on her elbows again, as she looked at her friend in mock horror.

"Ana?" He raised his eyebrows and waited for her to speak.

"Do you suppose the Valar will give Lord Glorfindel the task of subtle negotiation?"

They looked at each other, both attempting in vain to appear suitably appalled at Anaíel's suggestion that the elf-lord of Rivendel had a tendency to draw arms, perhaps a little too hastily. The two friends rolled in the grass as they melted into a fit of laughter that rang through the garden, and echoed up the granite walls of the canyon, wherein Imladris nestled, hidden from the rest of Middle Earth.

**Out, damn spot!**

Anaiél stood looking in the mirror, her face horrified as she tugged at the bodice of her dress, and stared at the mark just above her left breast. Her hands trembled as she rubbed at the mark, licked her finger and rubbed at the mark again.

"What in the name of all the Valar?" She asked her reflection.

Anaíel's reflection, of course, had nothing to say on the matter. She adjusted her dress, smoothed her hair, and ran from her bedroom to the adjoining sitting room. Looking around in near panic, she suddenly realized whom she should seek for advice.

"Haldír," she whispered as she bolted toward the terrace.

"Haldír!" This time she yelled his name rather loudly.

Anaiél raced through the arched doorway that led out onto the stone terrace, running headlong into her intended quarry who seemed to be looking in the wrong direction as he came barreling toward her.

Fortunately for Anaiél, Haldír hit the flagstone first, breaking her fall. Unfortunately for Haldír, her landing on top of him did nothing to ease the discomfort of sliding on his back for several feet across hard stone.

"Good morning, Ana," Haldír grunted.

Haldír grimaced as they began to untangle themselves. His arm bent at an odd angle, and each time they moved it sent a pain shooting to his shoulder. They finally managed to get to a sitting position, and being the first to rise, Anaiél offered her hand to him. He took it, nearly pulling her to the ground again as he rose to stand.

"Haldír, you have to see this," Anaiél breathlessly tugged at her dress.

Haldír pushed her hand toward her chest looking around to assure himself that no one had seen her trying to show him her...parts.

"Anaiél, what are you doing?" Haldír's eyes were huge as he continued to look around the terrace.

"Wait," Anaiél was struggling to pull down as Haldír struggled twice as hard to lift up.

"Oh fine," she said, releasing her grip on her dress. Taking his hand, she hurriedly walked him over to the bench near the entrance to her quarters and sat, pulling him down with her. With their heads together, silver and black hair acting as a curtain to somewhat shield them from any casual observers, Anaiél again lowered the bodice of her dress a few inches.

"Is that it?" Haldír looked disappointed.

"Is that it? Haldír, it is horrible," she pouted, then suddenly looked at him hopefully.

"Do you have one?"

Her face brightened considerably at the prospect of not being alone in this branding. She absentmindedly ran her finger over what was essentially nothing more than a small red ring with uneven edges, the approximate size of a grape; a small grape at that. She looked at him in anticipation.

Haldír opened his shirt, "No, I am as flawless as the day I was born."

Haldír nudged Anaiél and laughed as she rolled her eyes. They both looked down again at the mark on her skin.

"Perhaps I will not have to suffer this assault on my person," Haldír said hopefully.

"If you do not, and I am forced to bear this alone, I will bite you on your shoulder every day from now until eternity in order for us to say that we truly share all things." She did not move her eyes away from her chest as she spoke.

"Ana, it is not so bad, and it is in a place that no one will ever see." Haldír patted her shoulder.

Anaiél shot him a look and he raised his eyebrows.

"You are seeing it, breath of balrog," she could not decide if she wanted to look at him or the mark, and her eyes darted back and forth several times.

"Anaiél, as long as you do not go around pulling your bodice down under people's noses, I will be the only one who ever sees it."

Haldír ran his finger over the mark on her skin.

"You know mellen, you're skin is the same color as the people of Gondor, perhaps a little darker."

"Haldír," she poked his forehead with her finger, forcing him to look at her, "that is hardly the issue here. I am scarred for life, the least you could do is conjure up a more poetic comparison."

She waved the thought away with her hand, deeming it less important than staring raptly at the mark upon her person. Looking down again she sighed dramatically.

"It looks like an orc," she pouted.

"You have no idea what an orc looks like," he retorted.

"Well, Tirin calls Olossë orc face, and it does look rather like him," she replied.

As they sat on the bench, beginning to giggle, Anaiél heard the familiar sound of someone clearing their throat. Turning her head slightly she saw a pair of brown boots at the foot of the steps. She pressed her hands to her dress and gasped quietly, looking around desperately under the veil of hair for a way out. Seeing none, she schooled her face and slowly raised her head in unison with Haldír.

"The pair of you are a bit too old to be playing at healer, are you not?" Glorfindel asked, looking more than a little annoyed.

Haldír stood, and began to make his way down the steps to the courtyard and freedom. As he reached Lord Glorfindel, he felt a strong hand grab his shoulder, staying his retreat. One foot on the last step, the other on the courtyard floor, Haldír froze in place, looking blankly at nothing.

"You I will speak to later," Glorfindel hissed as he released Haldír, who immediately fled toward the stables.

Glorfindel returned his gaze to Anaiél who sat blushing furiously, struggling valiantly for the mask of sarcasm she usually reserved especially for him. Her emotions were staging a fierce battle with her features. As was usually the case, embarrassment won out, and Anaiél began to giggle hysterically. Her dark eyes pled with Glorfindel, trying desperately to convey that this display had passed far beyond her control.

Glorfindel slowly walked up the steps toward Anaiél. Having seen this particular outburst on previous occasions, he leaned against the stone pillar at the edge of the terrace. Standing with one leg crossing the other and his arms folded across his chest, Glorfindel settled his shoulder into a comfortable position to wait out the tempest.

Anaiél clamped her hand over her mouth and desperately tried to bring herself under control. She should not have looked up at Glorfindel at that moment. The look of arrogant annoyance on his face was beginning to irritate her, and yet she could not stem the stupid, childlike giggling. She bit her lower lip, dug her nails into the palm of her free hand and tried to use her irritation to compose herself.

Unfortunately, her tactics took her too far in the other direction, and she suddenly burst into tears. Horrified, she buried her face in her hands and prayed for Arda to open up and swallow her…now. Glorfindel pushed away from the pillar and stood up straight, a look of utter confusion on his face. He walked tentatively to the bench and sat next to Anaiél, taking her hands in his, and gently pulling them away from her eyes.

"Ana, are you ill? What is it?" His voice was as soft as it was perplexed.

Anaiél shook her head and looked up at the elf lord, her tears beginning to subside.

"I am not ill, I just, I cannot say, but I…" her voice trailed off and she looked out onto the terrace for lack of a better place toward which she could avert her eyes.

Once again, she had managed to humiliate herself in front of the ever annoyingly taciturn, Glorfindel. She felt utterly embarrassed and the thought of her father hearing of this incident mortified her. She realized that there was little hope of him not hearing of it unless she explained herself to Glorfindel's satisfaction.

After a moment's thought, Anaiél decided that nothing less than the whole truth could spare her father from ever learning of this exploit. With a sigh, she looked up at Glorfindel, then out into the vast courtyard as she tugged on the neckline of her dress to reveal the angry red mark.

Glorfindel could not stand up quickly enough, stumbling as his legs propelled him from the bench; he reached out and grabbed the wall to steady himself. Anaiél stood as well, looking at him in confusion and then alarm as she saw his eyes. He looked… Valar, he looked frightened.

"What is it, what is wrong with me?"

She too was frightened now, and her voice relayed the fact quite clearly. Glorfindel shook his head and commanded his features into a mask of calm indifference.

"It is a red mark Anaiél," he answered a bit too coldly, "you probably scratched yourself while brushing your hair."

Without another word, Glorfindel turned, walking off the terrace and into the courtyard. As Anaiél watched him walk away for what would be the last time until over twenty years had passed, she looked confused.

"Was he mumbling?" she asked herself incredulously, "no, Anaiél, you are mumbling."

She turned to walk inside shaking her head in confusion as she went.

She never noticed the eyes that watched her from across the courtyard as she entered the sitting room; eyes that watched her often, smoldering grey and hungry, biding their time. Time was the one thing that all in the circle would have in abundance.

"There is no hurry, only time, and more time."


	5. 58 years old? You don't look a day over...

**Again, thanks to my lovely betas – Ellisk and Yavanie (her first time and she rocks!)**

**In the case of my fic, elves are at times referred to as boy, girl, man, woman, etc.**

**Quotes: Lord Alfred Tennyson, Don Marquis and the Thompson Twins**

**Big thanks to SpaceWeavil for the Sindarin**

**58 years old? You don't look a day over 55 **

Círdan left Anaiél in the open field at the foot of the White Tower when he went to consult the palantir. Although the whispering had been more vague than in times past, he felt a great need to come here this day. He looked out the window at his daughter standing in the tall grass, and smiled.

Moving away from the window, his gaze met the Stone of Elendil. It glowed with a strange aura he had never seen before. He moved closer, his grey eyes reflecting the light as the dimmest apparition of a familiar figure appeared within. Círdan tilted his head in confusion as the message was revealed. He recognized the face of Beldír, and his eyes grew wide with horror as he watched what unfolded.

Anaiél stood barefoot in the grass as the salty ocean breeze blew her hair back from her eyes. She felt the light of the sun radiating warmth, and she laughed as a butterfly lit on her cheek, tickling her skin. She raised her face to the sky and was gathering her hair at the back of her neck, when she felt the first stab of pain explode behind her eyes.

Círdan placed his hands on the cool surface of the pedestal where the palantir rested. His silver hair fell over the stone, covering the fading image as he lowered his head in shock and grief. His hands clenched into fists as he pounded once on the smooth marble before standing upright and looking away.

Her eyelids flew open wide in shock, as she fell to her knees and covered her face with her hands. As the pain intensified, she began to see images in her mind. She saw the forest, archers on horseback riding through the trees, a hideous creature confronting them. The riders were from Lorien; she knew that horse.

"Ada!"

Anaíel's scream pierced through Círdan's anger, the sound chilling him to the bone. He looked out the window and saw her on her knees in the grass, blood streaming down her face, crying for him. She put her hands to the sides of her head and pulled at her hair as she clenched her fists.

Círdan raced down the spiral stairs, nearly falling over the railing; his only thought was to reach his child. He burst through the door at the base of the tower and ran to her, falling to his knees as he took hold of her.

"What is it Anaiél, tell me?"

"Ada, please make it stop," she sobbed.

"Anaiél, make what stop? Look at me sell nín, let me see your face." He took her face in his hands to still her.

Then, as suddenly as the pain had started, it was gone. Círdan removed his shirt and tore a piece of the material to hold it to his child's bleeding nose as he smoothed the hair from her face and laid her head against his chest, tucking her beneath his bearded chin, as he had when she was small. When he had calmed her a bit, she began to speak to him. Círdan felt his fury rise as she recounted the vision he had seen in the palantir; it had been hideous to watch, even for his battle worn eyes.

Anaiél sobbed as she tried to explain what she had seen. "Ada, it tricked them, it tricked them, and when they came close, it tore at them: their eyes and their flesh. It cut and they screamed so many times, Ada. It hated them and it ripped at them but it would not let them die, not for hours. Ada, they tried to run but it hacked at their legs and it killed them all…" She caught her breath and went completely still.

"Ada, Naneth." Círdan could barely hear her voice, but he knew she had seen Merilin as well.

The pain in her eyes tore at his heart; he was so enraged he could hardly breathe. He held her close and whispered to her, soothing and rocking her, speaking to her in Quenya as he had done all her life whenever she cried. He looked across the green hillside, and out over the sea, tears of sadness and rage filling his eyes. The calm water began to stir, each wave rising higher than the last as Ossë wept into the tide.

"We must go now Sell-e-faeren. We must prepare to make for Imladris quickly."

She nodded. Círdan took a deep breath as he rose, helping her up and holding her close to him again. He could not bear to watch her face as he related his own vision of what she had already seen.

"They are taking Merilin to Imladris. Beldír is gone and Merilin is fading to her end. They look to Lord Elrond to help her, yet she will not be spared. Her grief has overtaken her." Her father's voice sounded thin and sad.

Tears streamed down her face as Círdan held her tight.

"Haldír," he heard her anguished whisper, and the silent rage flared.

Traveling light, and as swiftly as the horses' well being would allow, they made their way to Imladris. Anaiél was pale and distracted, Olossë and Tirin's best attempts at cheering her fell on ears too clouded with grief and concern to heed them. As they rode, Anaiél thought about what had happened at Elostirion.

She had been curious about what her father would see in the palantir. As she stood in the grassy field at the base of the tower, she had tried to focus on it, straining to picture it in her mind. Suddenly, she felt it searching her out as well. When it found her, she tried to stop it, to hold it back, but it seemed to crash into her thoughts and overwhelm her. The physical pain it had caused was blinding; the pain of what it showed her went far deeper, altering her forever.

The incident had frightened her and infuriated Círdan. He had made her promise that she would never attempt this again. They would discuss the issue with Lord Elrond and Lord Celeborn when they reached Imladris. She never mentioned the incident with Lady Galadriel; it made her feel as if she were revealing secrets that were not hers to tell. She simply told Círdan she would do as he bid. It was the first time she had ever lied to her father.

As they drew nearer to Imladris, Anaiél grew restless. Círdan spoke to her as they rode.

"Anaiél, we will be arriving soon. You will remember, the formality of Lord Elrond's home is not as lacking as in Mithlond."

She looked up at her father and smiled wanly. He was disappointed that he did not get a more animated response. Less than a month ago she would have teased him with threats of drinking miruvor from the bottle or talking with food in her mouth.

There had been few events during her childhood in Mithlond, and her travels to Imladris and Lorien, that had marked his child. The vision of Beldír's death had done more to bring an end to her youthful innocence than all of those events combined. Círdan mourned the loss miserably.

Elladan and Elrohir, Anaíel's two favorite tormentors, met them at the gates of Imladris. She greeted the twins playfully, but Círdan could see her heart was not in it. Elrohir helped her dismount and Elladan took their horses. Elrohir turned to Círdan, not at all surprised by their unheralded arrival. He knew that Lord Círdan received all news of import long before the swiftest rider could carry it to him. He never failed to appear when and where he was most needed, much like his grandmother, the Lady Galadriel.

"Lord Círdan, my father and Lord Celeborn have been expecting you. Lord Celeborn arrived two days ago with Beldír's sons and, their mother." Elrohir looked at the ground as he finished. "Lord Celeborn is in Arwen's garden with Rúmil and Orophin now. He has been with them most of the morning."

"How are the young ones faring?" Círdan asked, concern etched on his face.

"The younger two have wept a great deal and are struggling to understand," Elrohir told him. "It is difficult, given their ages, but it is Haldír who seems most altered. He is angry, and yet he tries his best to show no emotion at all. He refuses to see his mother, and will allow no one in his room. He has not spoken with anyone of Beldír's…" Elrohir's voice began to break and he was unable to finish his sentence. After a pause, he continued sadly, "He has hardly eaten and Ada is worried for his health."

Círdan placed his hand on his shoulder to comfort him as Elrohir turned to look at Anaiél mournfully. He took her hand but she could not meet his gaze, his grief was too much for her now. Instead she stared straight ahead as they walked, her eyes filling with tears. Lord Elrond met them on the terrace. He looked worried and tired. He greeted Círdan warmly and put his arm around Anaiél. Lord Elrond looked in her eyes, speaking directly to her,

"Merilin is fading quickly child, she has no desire to remain here without Beldír, her only wish is to follow him. I am afraid I can not cure her will, she will have her wish soon."

Lord Elrond then spoke to Círdan.

"We must prepare her sons as best we can, but I am afraid Haldír's hurt goes far too deep, beyond what a shoulder to lean on and words of comfort can ease.'

Círdan nodded in understanding then lowered his head as he thought of how Haldír had always idolized his father, and adored his mother. Círdan knew that left on his own, without support from those who cared most for him, this loss had the potential to devastate Haldír. He also knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that with the help of those who loved him, Haldír would emerge from this anguish not unscathed, but with a new strength of character that would serve him well."

Lord Elrond spoke, recalling Círdan from his reflection. "Come Mellon, I will take you to Merilin."

Elrond took Círdan's arm, giving his son a pointed look as he led his friend away. When Anaiél could no longer hear them, they began to speak of Beldír.

"Has anyone been able to determine what it was that killed the wardens?" Círdan's face was angry as he spoke of his friend's death.

"No one knows for sure Mellon, only that it was a slow and vicious end, they were tortured and left to bleed to death over time. They are speculating that it was orcs, but orcs kill with abandon, for blood lust, not for sport."

They fell silent, each left to their own thoughts regarding this evil as they walked toward the room of the fading Elleth.

**"And out of darkness came the hands that reach thro' nature, molding men." **

"Come this way Ana, I will show you to Haldír's room." Elrohir led Anaiél into the hall.

As they passed the Hall of Fire, Anaiél paused, comforted by the warmth and fragrant smells that emanated from her favorite room. Elrohir took her as far as Haldír's door. He turned to her, hugged her warmly and without a word discreetly walked back the way they had come.

Anaiél stood near the door, summoning the courage to do what she knew would not bode well with her father. She did not want to think of Ada at the moment; she wanted to help her friend. She knocked softly on the door of Haldír's room.

"Please, leave me in peace." A deep, arrogant voice spoke.

Anaiél was shocked by the sound of it. It had been nine years since she had last seen Haldír. Since the falling of shadow that brought the blight to the forest home of King Thranduil, Anaiél had not been allowed to travel to the east. Her father feared for her safety without him, and had been unable to accompany her. Beldír had also begun to travel between Imladris and Lorien much more frequently so Anaiél and Haldír had to make do with writing one another, waiting patiently for messengers traveling from one realm to the other. On rare occasions, the twins, Lord Elrond himself, or one of their ranger friends would arrive with news or a letter.

She had not thought of how they had both reached their maturity since last they had seen each other. It seemed that such a short time had passed.

"Haldír? Open the door Mellonen, please?" Her voice was steady, belying her apprehension.

"Anaiél?"

"Yes, please let me in?"

Anaiél heard him stir and the door opened. She carefully pushed it further and walked into the room. She looked to where she expected to see his face and saw only a broad chest wearing a linen shirt. She followed the shirt up to the neck then raised her head even further until she found his face.

She saw his eyes, Haldír's eyes, but sad and angry, yet just as blue as ever, and she smiled. He reciprocated with a tight smile that did not reach the eyes that she knew so well. They, in turn, seemed not to know her at all.

They were filled with a rage she had never seen before, and under the rage, a loneliness that she understood all to well. Her childhood friend was barely discernable through the mask of pain. They looked at each other for a few moments before Haldír broke the silence.

"How are you Anaiél?" He said coldly, "I trust your trip went well. Has your father accompanied you?"

He inclined his head slightly, with a look of disdain as he did so, making it appear as though he thought himself above acknowledging her. His voice was painfully polite, void of all emotion, thick with his newfound shield of arrogance. It was as if he were speaking down to her and the tone in his voice made her cringe.

She frowned, and a crease at the bridge of her nose appeared from nowhere, a warning he knew: a tirade was about to be unleashed. But she took a deep breath and began speaking to him softly.

"Haldír, you are my dearest friend. You have always been a friend when I needed you, and now I offer you the same. You forget, I know who you are, Mellonen, and I know your heart. Your tone does not fool me, if it fools the others, so be it. You will not hide from me however, not if I have to stand here for as long as it would take Elladan to find an elleth in all of Arda stupid enough to marry him."

Haldír shot his eyes at Anaiél and laughed, just for a moment, but genuinely. It was truly as deep and rich as that of his father, and it brought tears to Anaíel's eyes. Letting his guard down momentarily, he hugged his old friend warmly. They talked quietly of things that had happened since they had last seen each other, and how grown up they had both become in so short a time. Once the pleasantries were out of the way however, an uncomfortable silence settled around them and they stood looking at each other, neither sure how to approach the situation which had brought her to Imladris.

Haldír was no fool, he was wise enough to realize that he had to make a decision: either he could open up now, to the one friend he knew he could trust, or he could allow himself to be swallowed up by his fear and anger, remaining alone and lonely in his bitterness. He thought of Anaiél and her paralyzing fear of being alone. If he made that conscious choice for himself now, abandoning his promise to her, not caring how it would affect her, she would hate him forever and he would hate himself. He made up his mind that he would trust his friend, as she had always trusted him. He took a deep breath saying,

"He is gone Anaiél; it was a horrible death and he has left me here alone, and now my mother wishes to leave this place as well."

He became agitated and began to pace the floor as he spoke, his voice filled with anguish.

"Why did my father have to be so foolish? He knew of the growing problems in Dol Guldur, and the rumors of danger at the edge of Mirkwood. Why did he ride into that place, what could he have been thinking?"

He sat down in the chair next to his bed and hung his head in frustration as he ran his hands through his hair. Anaiél sat on the edge of his bed and put her hand on his knee.

"I cannot answer those questions for your father, Mellon, but I can tell you this: your father was fiercely loyal to his family and his people, and the finest warden of Lorien. He would never have let something that he perceived to be a danger escape if there were a chance of it becoming a threat to his home. He would have stood and fought, but not foolishly, Haldír. Your father loved you and your brothers, and would never have risked himself for naught." She continued, "I know what you are feeling, Mellon. I understand alone, and I promise you now as you once promised me: I will be here for you always. Know that you will never be alone. I swear to you, as long as you and I are here in Arda and you can find me, I will be here for you."

Haldír looked into Anaíel's eyes and knew that her words were true. So many secrets, dreams and hopes bound them together, and now, grief would make that bond hold even truer than before. She had been his constant friend throughout his life, and he loved her for that.

But there was the matter of his mother. She had been as much of a mother to Anaiél as she could be, but his feelings were something she could never comprehend. His anger and restlessness returned as he thought of her fading and leaving her sons alone without thought for their wellbeing or their future.

"And what of Naneth, are her sons not enough for her to at least try?"

Anaiél looked into Haldír's eyes, seeing her image reflected back to her in cerulean brilliance. She had known those eyes forever and they had known her. If there had been any doubt in her mind about what she should do, it was obliterated now by the torment in that she saw there, an affliction that would no longer allow him to see her.

"Your anger at your mother I cannot wholly understand Haldír, but if you trust me, I will help you. I will help her. She is the closest thing to a mother I have known, and I would not have her leave you thinking she is weak and uncaring. Will you go to her with me?"

Haldír hesitated for only a moment, before nodding his assent. She took his hand as they made their way down the long hallway to the room where his mother lay, entering quietly to find Círdan and Elrond sitting on either side of the bed. Merilin lay still under the linen, her face as pale as the frost, far beyond the usual pale beauty of the elves. She would not last long in this world; they could feel her fëa dimming.

"Ada, Lord Elrond, may Haldír and I have a moment alone with Naneth?" She asked softly.

The two elves rose to leave. Círdan placed a hand on Haldír's shoulder and felt the young elf stiffen. He looked at Haldír with sad eyes, knowing that this was a crossroad for the boy. If he could not understand and forgive his mother, he would never be able to understand anyone nor forgive himself for never properly saying goodbye.

When the others had left, Anaiél took Haldír's hand and urged him to sit on the bed where his mother lay, fading. He did so reluctantly and Anaiél sat next to him. She put Merilin's hand in Haldír's and held it there. Merilin did not stir and Haldír looked frightened.

"She is so cold." He whispered.

"Yes, but she is still here, can you not feel her?"

"Yes." Haldír's answer was clipped and angry.

Anaiél closed her eyes. Seeking what, in the past, had only come to her unbidden and unexpectedly. But there was no trying; it came to her quickly, the soft voice of Estë singing to her from afar. Anaiél struggled to control her thoughts, then pulled those whose hands she clasped, into the song with her. She begged for Estë to sing to Haldír and Merilin, giving them these last moments to understand.

Though Haldír could not say he heard the music, he did feel it. He felt it in his heart as clear as the dawn. The hand that clasped his own to his mother's radiated warmth and he began to understand a version of his mother's tale that was not his own. Just as he had not heard the music, he did not see her grief, he felt it, along with all her pain and love.

Haldír was given the chance to look into his mother's heart and understand her to a degree, though he could not rid himself of the sorrow or regret. These would stay with him, and he would hide them from the world under an air of serene composure for all his life. He would become a master at holding his emotions close, the ideal of level headed calm in every situation and a brilliant negotiator.

His pain would give him a certain edge, however, that would keep him distant, maintaining relationships at arms length and trusting only a select few who knew him completely. His newfound reluctance to let strangers close would garner him a reputation for cool indifference and even arrogance.

He looked up when he felt Anaiél release his hand. A single tear fell from his eye.

"Thank you, Mellen," he whispered.

Anaiél kissed Merilin's hand and then Haldír's cheek and rose to leave, giving him time alone to properly bid his mother farewell. As she reached the door, she turned back to look at her friend, his mother's hand pressed to his cheek, weeping freely as he softly spoke his last words to her.

**Blood will tell, but often it tells too much **

Anaiél closed the door quietly and was walking down the hall toward the library when she suddenly stopped short, her eyesight narrowing and the world around her dimming. She was holding the wall to keep from pitching forward when she saw Lord Glorfindel hurrying toward her. As he reached her, she could see he was speaking to her, but she could not hear his words. She was thinking that he had not changed in the long years since she had last seen him, he still looked angry and…

"Anaiél? Anaiél, what has happened to you?"

Her head was swimming and she felt a blinding pain behind her eyes. She had fought hard to keep visions of Beldír's death from being added to those of Merilin's sorrow. She wanted desperately to protect her friend from that horror, but it had cost her.

Anaiél was swaying on her feet and Glorfindel caught her as she began to fall. She looked pale and her nose was bleeding profusely. He picked her up and carried her quickly to Lord Elrond's library. Erestor heard Glorfindel in the hallway and met them at the door.

"What has happened?" Erestor asked as he stepped back to let Glorfindel by.

"I am not sure, she was in the hallway, coming from Merilin's room. When I spoke to her she did not answer." Glorfindel looked at Erestor. "Please, find her father and Lord Elrond, quickly."

Glorfindel carried Anaiél across the library and laid her on a sofa. He searched the room for something to stop the bleeding, and found a cloth lying on a small side table. Returning to where she lay, he held it carefully to her bleeding nose. He knelt on the floor and leaned over her, looking at all the blood with concern in his eyes.

She seemed to be gathering her senses and was trying to sit up. He put her hand to the cloth so that she could hold it and assisted her into a sitting position. He stood and looked down at his shirt. He was wondering how there could be so much blood from such a small nose when Anaiél spoke to him in a rather dull tone.

"I am so sorry, I have soiled your shirt, my lord."

She spoke through the cloth, which made her voice sound muffled, pronouncing it 'by lord'. She then pulled the cloth away from her face and held it toward him.

"I am afraid I have bloodied your...piece of…this, uh, thing, as…"

Without saying a word, Glorfindel pushed the cloth back toward her face. He looked into her eyes, nearly black with frustration and fear, and he decided to let her have her ill-conceived notion of what he was thinking. He did not want to aggravate the bleeding further by upsetting her, and so, kept his remark to himself.

She rose, somewhat shaky on her feet, and stood in front of Glorfindel. They stared at each other for a few moments, one in annoyance, the other in concern and building amusement, until Círdan came running through the door. They both turned toward him, a temporary truce in their stand off. Círdan looked at Glorfindel's blood soaked shirt then at his child's face, and his heart sank.

"Anaiél, why?" He asked.

Her look of defiance immediately faded to one of anguished regret.

"I am sorry Ada, I wanted to hel…"

"Enough," Círdan said softly as he held up his hand. "Lord Elrond is coming to take a look at you and treat your bleeding if need be, you can explain this later."

His voice was stern and he would not look at her.

A short time later, they sat at a table in Lord Elrond's library. Anaiél was sipping tea that Master Erestor had brought her, elbows resting on the table, occasionally blotting her nose with a cloth to make sure it was no longer bleeding. Lord Celeborn sat across from her and Lord Elrond and Círdan on either side. Glorfindel stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame in his bloodied shirt, as if keeping watch. 'Ever the grand warrior,' thought Anaiél. She wondered if he rested standing at full attention. Celeborn was asking Círdan and Anaiél of the circumstances surrounding her previous episode of bleeding.

"The first time was three days before we set out for Imladris." She told him, trying hard not to look at anyone as she did.

Anaiél silently prayed that lying to Lord Celeborn did not equal lying to her father. She did not see Glorfindel turn his head to look at her sharply as she spoke.

"I had gone with Ada to the White Tower and was waiting for him on the rise. I was wondering what he would see and I…I don't know how to describe it, but I felt for the stone," her voice dropped to a whisper as she said, "that is when I saw Beldír."

Anaiél swallowed hard at the memory. Lord Celeborn raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"I do not know, I felt it, and saw…" She looked at him, hoping he understood.

Celeborn nodded and she continued.

"I felt a pain behind my eyes and my nose began bleeding."

She looked at Círdan; he looked so sad she wanted to scream. She sighed and looked back toward Lord Celeborn.

"Today, I was with Haldír saying goodbye to Naneth. I cannot describe how it happens, but I hear Estë and she sings. I only wished for Haldír to understand," she looked down at her teacup as she continued. "I called to her as softly as I could, I did not want to disturb Merilin's peace, but I had to fight hard to control my own thoughts. I suppose it was more difficult than I realized, and toward the end I felt ill. I left Haldír alone to say goodbye to Naneth, and the next thing I remember, Lord Glorfindel was pushing a towel into my face."

She looked at her father again, who no longer looked sad, but visibly angry. She looked down at the table, ashamed at having upset him.

Celeborn tilted his head to see her face, but she would not look up.

"How much do you remember of your begetting, Hênen?"

"I know how I came to be, but I do not remember it, not like the elves do."

"When you were brought into the world, Anaiél, you were given certain gifts." He explained. "These gifts will come to you in your time, but it seems that you have tried to employ them while they are still far stronger than your ability to control them."

She looked up past Lord Celeborn as he spoke and saw Glorfindel quickly turn his head to stare out into the hall. She made a face of distaste, and returned her attention to the table. Celeborn continued to speak to her.

"You must take care, Anaiél, you must not use what you are not ready to understand. I fear you may do yourself harm if you are not careful."

She nodded, "Yes, Lord Celeborn, I have no desire to put my poor nose through any more."

Círdan turned to Anaiél. He wrinkled his brow sternly as he looked at her.

"No more." He said, pointedly.

"I promise, Ada." She answered

Elrond and Celeborn nodded to her, excusing her, but Círdan was lost in thought. He knew that Anaiél was set for a difficult and long path. Though he could not voice it, his heart cried out for her to slow her pace, not to hurry circumstances and events that would come all too soon, and unbidden.

**Are you sure they meant you, and not the balrog? **

Anaiél sat sideways, straddling the bench in the garden outside her room. Her hair was loose, pooling around her face and cascading down her back. She scratched at her scalp trying to release the remaining braids then wildly ran her hands through her hair.

She still wore the black leggings and boots of her traveling outfit, though she had washed up all the blood and changed into a clean, white linen shirt she had stolen from her father's satchel. She was tired and she wanted a bath, but the early evening air was warm and it felt so good to sit in the garden listening to the rushing water of the falls as the sun began to set.

She drew her legs up to cross them over the bench when she heard a familiar sound.

"Is that something you do just for me, Lord Glorfindel, or do you truly believe that all of Arda cannot hear your awkward, and very unelvenlike gait as you approach?"

Anaiél drew her hand behind her head and swept her hair from her face. She looked up to see Lord Glorfindel of the perpetually raspy throat, all bathed and blood free, looking at her from a short distance away, smiling. She smiled in return then looked down at her hands, which were absentmindedly braiding a lock of hair that she had just unbraided not five minutes earlier.

"Lord Glorfindel, please allow me to apologize for my behavior in the library earlier," she began. "I was tired and frightened, but that is no excuse for my rudeness."

'There, Ada would be very proud of me,' she thought.

He approached the enclosure somewhat tentatively, seemingly unsure whether this were a sign of her maturity or a trap with which to bring her target in closer. She wondered if he had to force himself not to look around for buckets containing foul seawater as he sat in front of her, straddling the bench as well.

"Look at you, Anaiél," he said, raising his hand and brushing her hair from her face. "You are a babe no longer."

She smiled vaguely, remembering their words twenty-three years past. She looked away rather sheepishly, in a decidedly unAnnaiél-like manner.

"You have grown quite beautifully," he said, "your father must be very proud."

He was trying to see her eyes, but she would not look at him. In an attempt at light conversation, something Glorfindel never attempted, he decided to change the subject.

"Did you ever decide to become a healer?" he asked without thinking it through thoroughly. "Or was that Haldír's calling?"

He did not see the flash of ire in her eyes, nor did he see the slight faltering of the smile, but how he could have missed the crease in her brow, he would wonder, this time, and many times hence. Had Haldír been there, he would have seen all the signs, and warned Glorfindel to take flight.

Anaiél ran her hands across her face and up through her hair to emerge from within the raven curtain still wearing a smile. He could see her eyes, too late, as she answered him.

"Why would I bother Lord Elrond or Master Erestor to instruct me in the art of healing, when it would be much easier to come to Glorfindel-of-the-Golden-Throat for instruction on mastering the art of tactless conversation?"

Her smile faded as she spoke, replaced with a look of dry sarcasm. If she were not so tired, she would have ended the question by pushing the arrogant Lord-of-the-Larynx off her bench.

For a brief moment, Glorfindel was going to react, but suddenly, he drew a quick breath and stood up, looking toward the hall. Anaiél froze, looking straight ahead and holding her breath. Glorfindel cocked his head to the side almost imperceptibly and waited for several more minutes. She could see his hands as they fell to his sides. She tentatively looked up and saw in his eyes what she had hoped not to.

"Naneth," she said, her voice breaking as tears filled her eyes and rolled down her face.

**"And in the face of evil beauty was lost."**

Glorfindel reached down and took Anaíel's hand in both of his, a pained look in his grey eyes. She stood and allowed him to lead her into the hall. She wiped the tears from her face as they walked slowly toward Merilin's room. When they reached the doorway of the sitting room, Glorfindel released her hand and stood aside, allowing her to pass.

The sitting room was filled with those who had known and loved Beldír and Merilin. Their three sons, along with Círdan, Elrond and Celeborn emerged from the bedchamber, closing the door as they came into the larger room. Arwen and Celebrian moved to stand with Elrond. Elladan and Elrohir came in through the terrace as Glorfindel and Anaiél entered from the hall. Galdor sat in a chair near the window with Olossë and Tirin who stood next to him with his hand on his shoulder.

Rúmil, the youngest of Merilin's three sons, turned to look at Anaiél. She had not seen the child before, as he was but four years old. He was the image of his father: beautiful and bold looking. She wondered if he had the same magnificent smile. Haldír leaned down and whispered something in his ear and Rúmil walked toward her, shyly at first, and then, as he began to cry, he held up his hands to her, and she scooped him into her arms. He buried his face in her shoulder and wept freely.

Anaiél crossed the room to stand next to Haldír. She reached down and touched Orophin's head gently. He looked up at her and smiled weakly in recognition, then at his brother and scowled. Ever the shorter version of Haldír, he curled his lip in scorn at his crying sibling.

"Make him stop that noise, Haldír," he said.

He looked over at Glorfindel, who smiled softly at him. Orophin walked toward the elf lord, who knelt as the child approached him, one arm resting on his knee, to be at eye level with him.

"Lord Glorfindel, tell Rúmil to stop," he demanded again. "Make him stop, and bring Nana back."

Glorfindel looked as if the young elf had slapped him. Haldír moved toward Orophin but Lord Elrond put a reassuring hand on his arm to stay him. Glorfindel shook his head at Orophin, as if to deny his request, and reached a hand out toward him. Orophin took it, grabbing his shirt with the other.

"Bring her back Lord Glorfindel, can you go get Nana and bring her home, please?"

Glorfindel shook his head again sadly as he tightened his hold on the child's hand. Orophin tugged at the front of his shirt as he began to cry. He freed himself from Glorfindel's grasp, and grabbing on to the front of his shirt with both hands now, he twisted the fabric in frustration.

"Nana's gone," Orophin said quietly as he began to sob.

He lowered his golden head and pressed it against Glorfindel's chest as he dropped to his knees. As Orophin slid to the floor, he pulled the shirt with him. The front of it came open, exposing the flawless, pale skin. No, not flawless, there was a small, red mark on the left side of his chest, just above his heart. It looked exactly like…

"Valar!" Anaiél swore under her breath.

She quickly turned toward the wall, praying no one had heard her, holding the weeping Rúmil close to her face. Her father shot her a disapproving look and she cringed. She composed her face, and turned back to look again. Lord Glorfindel leaned forward to pick Orophin up from the floor and as he did, his shirt came open once more.

Anaiél closed her eyes in disbelief. Haldír reached behind her, putting his hand around her waist, and pulling her close, he turned his head and bent down, pressing his lips against her ear.

"If you cannot see it, is it still there?" He whispered, almost too softly for her to hear then moved back, looking straight ahead.

Anaiél did not look at Haldír, but she promised herself, when he was feeling better, she was going to drown him. She looked toward Glorfindel again, her eyes moving down his face, his neck, and again, to his chest. She bit her lip and shifted Rúmil in her arms. Glorfindel looked toward her and saw her staring. He looked down and quickly pulled the fabric of his shirt closed with one hand as he helped the child stand with the other, saying something she could not hear as he led him to a chair.

Lord Celeborn came and knelt next to Orophin, speaking softly to him, instantly soothing the child's tears with his words. Glorfindel, still holding his shirt closed with one hand, stood and walked out to the terrace.

Lord Elrond led everyone, save the three siblings and Lord Celeborn, from the room. Arwen and Celebrian spoke with Elrond briefly, and then Celebrian excused herself, citing a need to make preparations. Arwen spoke briefly to Anaiél, then with a kiss on the cheek, left to follow her mother. The remainder of the group drifted into the Hall of Fire.

Anaiél stood with her father talking in hushed tones regarding the fate of the three brothers. Círdan reassured her that they would be well cared for by Celeborn, making sure to add that they would be equally welcome in his own home, always.

The twins were talking with their father and Master Erestor, the rest of the group sat lost in quiet thought. Glorfindel was leaning against a desk in the corner, arms crossed, staring at Anaíel's back with a grim look on his face. As soon as Círdan moved away to speak with Olossë, Tirin and Galdor, Glorfindel headed toward her.

b "I'll sing you a new song, please don't cry anymore" /b 

"You do not look well, Anaiél," he said quietly through his teeth. "Perhaps you would like to step out onto the porch for a moment." It was not a question.

Glorfindel took Anaiél by the arm and led her toward the archway and through to the terrace. As they passed Elladan, she noticed the look he shot at his brother and rolled her eyes at him as soon as she was sure that no one else would see.

"Let go of my arm," Anaiél hissed at him.

She jerked her body around to face Glorfindel, fully expecting to free herself from his grip. That expectation was not met, not by half.

"Keep your voice down, and I will let you go."

Glorfindel looked worried and, as usual, angry.

He looked over her shoulder to assure that no one was watching, as he pulled her further away from the entrance to the hall. He stopped short, and then, either for good measure, or because he was enjoying himself, pulled her several feet further still. She gave one last tug against the hand that held her arm, then gave up and relaxed.

"What is this fascination you have with trying to separate me from my arm, my lord?" She looked at him as if she had never seen such a display of ill manners.

"Anaiél, do not play games with me at this moment," he warned her.

She donned her very best, 'I-have-no-idea-in-all-of-Arda-what-you-could-possibly-mean,' expression and looked him dead in the eye. He practically growled at her in frustration. She would have to work on her very best.

"I know what you saw," his voice was low and rough.

Part of her harbored a great desire to continue the game, if only to see if he would burst into flame, the other part was too afraid of him to try. She decided to take the offensive.

"You have no right to be upset with me for being shocked by your, for lack of a better term, revelation," she emphasized the last word. "After all, you are the one who lied to me."

"I did not lie to you, Anaiél. I do not lie."

He said this with such meaning. Surely, he was not implying that she did.

"You most certainly did lie to me." Anaiél sounded so offended that Glorfindel nearly began to laugh.

"No, I merely declined to divulge information, which is, most definitely, not a lie. Telling your father that you have done a thing twice, when in fact, you have done the thing three times is, most definitely lying."

He looked at her as if daring her to dispute what they both knew was the truth. She looked at him suspiciously wondering how he knew, opened her mouth, thought better of it, and closed it again. She gave herself several moments to collect her thoughts and made another pass.

"You did lie to me, you lied by omission, and that is a lie none the less."

Anaiél renewed her effort to free her arm, but Glorfindel refused to let her go. She was fast becoming frustrated as, for the second time that day, the bridge of her nose began to crease in anger. Haldír would have been thrilled, twice in one day was impressive. She was seriously considering taking a bite out of the offending hand, when she heard the first phrases of a lament to Haldír's parents.

Glorfindel released Anaíel's arm as they looked up in tandem toward the cliffs from where the sound echoed. They stood there for several minutes, forgetting why they had been standing there at all. Then, Glorfindel led her down the steps toward a bench in the courtyard nested within a stone enclosure. They sat, leaning against the wall of the enclosure, listening to the painfully beautiful voices of the elves, under the moonlit sky.

Haldír emerged from within the hall looking upward, visibly moved by the tribute to his mother and father. Moving out into the courtyard, he sat on the bench next to Anaiél, opposite Glorfindel. He laid his head on her shoulder. She took his hand as Glorfindel put his arm around them both.

Haldír's brothers joined them, sitting on the floor at their feet. As Rúmil sat with his cheek pressed against Anaíel's knee, Orophin leaned over and kissed the top of Rúmil's head. He looked up at Haldír and smiled, then laid his head in his brother's lap. Finally, the twins came, sitting on the floor on either side of the young elves. They too laid their heads in their friend's laps, looking up at the stars. They stayed most of the night, listening to the songs that honored the memory of Beldír and Merilin of Lorien echoing through the Merrill Vale.

Lord Celeborn stood just inside the doorway of the library, looking out at the circle of friends consoling each other without a word. He smiled gently as Elrond and Círdan came to stand by his side. Círdan sighed and Elrond laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

From a darker corner of the garden, grey eyes watched in secret. A gleam of satisfaction lighting them, they looked almost feral.

"Do not cry, beautiful Anaiél." He whispered, and then he laughed quietly into the dark.


End file.
